Rescue Me
by skygirl55
Summary: Twelve weeks. All Kate Beckett needed to do was survived twelve weeks as the assistant to the surly, unkind, and downright unpleasant writer. The position was temporary, so she could make it. She had, after all, faced far worse than Richard Castle…or had she? Caskett AU
1. Chapter 1

**Rescue Me**

* * *

Twelve weeks. All Kate Beckett needed to do was survived twelve weeks as the assistant to the surly, unkind, and downright unpleasant writer. The position was temporary, so she could make it. She had, after all, faced far worse than Richard Castle…or had she? Caskett AU

There are 12 chapters.

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

"This is a good thing. This is a good thing. _This_ is a _good_ thing."

Kate Beckett repeated her mantra as she stepped off the elevator on the penthouse floor of that Broome Street residential building. She knew it was a good thing; it was why she had taken the job, but as it was not what she intended to be doing at that time—not what she felt she was meant to be doing—accepting the position was hard, even if it was only temporary.

Having a short-term position was a good thing for her, though. The perfect distraction her father had called it when he proposed it to her and she knew he was right about that. What the hell was she going to do otherwise? Sit in her apartment and stare at the walls for twelve weeks? Worse—sit in her apartment and drown herself into bottle after bottle of scotch? No, that definitely wasn't the solution.

But was this?

Truth be told Kate felt practically blind sighted by how quickly things had moved over the prior three days. At the beginning of the week, she'd been prepared to sequester herself in her apartment and wallow over her suspension and thus, in her mind, failure. When her father called her she almost didn't answer, but she did, and he delivered the news that changed the course of her week.

Evidently, through the academic publishing grapevine he'd received word about an aging writer seeking an assistant for a three month period—a period that coincided perfectly with the duration of her suspension from the NYPD. Her father had described it as "practically fate" but Kate remained skeptical until she called the number he provided and found out that yes, indeed, the position was available—and it paid even better than her detective's salary; so much for those worries about making rent!

The more Kate learned about the position she realized she would, in effect, be a glorified intern, which had her questioning the high weekly rate. When she inquired similarly, the Black Pawn representative bluntly explained that her client was an ornery, disagreeable old man and thus the money was meant to coax a prospective candidate into staying the duration of the twelve weeks instead of quitting after one. As Kate felt she was more than up to the challenge (A grumpy old man? He'd surely be a walk in the park compared to the perps she dealt with nearly every day.) she agreed to the position without second thought and was told to show up the next day at the apartment on Broome Street.

Smoothing down the front of her buttoned blazer, Kate stepped up to the door leading to Penthouse A and rapped on it sharply with her knuckles. She shut her eyes and took in a deep breath, mentally preparing herself to become the typist to an aging man suffering from severe arthritis. It was going to be fine; totally fine.

A minute later, the door swung open to reveal a blonde woman with height equal to Kate's. She wore a snug-fitting cap-sleeved dress in navy blue with a narrow red belt and had a cold, soul-piercing stare. Squaring off her shoulders, Kate greeted the blonde with, "Hello. I'm here to-"

"Ms. Beckett, please come in."

"Oh, I, thank you. You're…Ms. Cowell?" Kate asked as she stepped inside the apartment and gazed at the woman shutting the door who was presumably the Black Pawn contact she was meeting with to sign her employment paperwork.

"Gina is fine."

"And you can call me Kate. I'm a little early, I know, and I hope Mr. Steinman doesn't mind but-"

"Ah, yes, um…before we get any further." Gina paused and laced her fingers together, holding her arms with elbows bent to ninety degrees. "I suppose I need to clarify some things for you. For confidentiality reasons this position was advertised as an assistant to textbook author Vern Steinman, but that's not the case."

Kate arched one brow and said, "Oh?" That seemed strange to her, as her father had confirmed that Vern Steinman was a known textbook scribe and author of many law articles. Kate's background was supposedly actually one of the main reasons she was hired so quickly—because she would already be familiar with much of the legal jargon.

"Yes. In actuality you'll-"

Gina's voice was cut off by a loud, obnoxious blenching sound coming from across the room. Her attention drawn towards the offending noise, Kate turned and saw a man emerging from the opening in a very large bookcase. He wore a dark colored hooded sweatshirt that zipped in the front, what appeared to be gray sweatpants, and was barefoot. He stumbled around the centrally located coffee table in the living area, cursed obscenely, and continued across the apartment towards what Kate saw to be the kitchen. The man, whose nearly chin-length hair was mussed as though he'd just gotten out of bed despite it being quarter to ten on a Wednesday morning, also appeared as though he hadn't shaved in months, though his beard was growing in sparsely, making him appear even more disheveled.

The man stopped walking when he reached the opposite side of the kitchen. He lifted his right arm and appeared to grip onto the handle of one of the cabinets above the counter, but his hand flopped back down off the round object. He tried twice more while grumbling something Kate couldn't discern, until finally he yelled out, "God damn it! Juanita! Stupid piece of—Juanita!"

A moment later Kate heard what she believed to be footsteps from above and looked further to her left to see a set of stairs. A woman appeared at the top and called out, "Coming Mr. Castle!" with an obvious Spanish accent. The woman had black hair in a high ponytail and a white-button down shirt that was probably purchased in a size too small judging by the puckering stress lines around the buttons; Kate estimated her to be in her late forties or early fifties. She skidded into the kitchen and shooed the man away from the cabinet he stood in front of. "You want your coffee, yes? I'll get for you. Go—go back to your office Mr. Castle."

The man grunted, spun around and stalked back across the apartment muttering various things. Kate could not hear everything that he said, but what she did hear was liberally laced with the F-word. Once the man disappeared back into the bookcase wall, Kate blinked and turned back towards the blonde woman who appeared to be wincing.

Gina cleared her throat, opened her eyes and continued with, "be working for Richard Castle."

"I see," Kate said with an even tone. Well, that certainly did make an interesting addition to her already interesting week. Though, finally, some pieces were beginning to make more sense—like the high salary and the secrecy.

Kate had been a fan of the mystery writer known as Richard Castle for quite some time and thus often took note of news articles with him as their main subject. Mostly, they were reports on his upcoming books, which she happily read, or occasionally about who he was spotted at a restaurant with, which she mostly ignored. One in particular, however, stood out in her mind; it was not every day a famous author was connected with a deadly traffic accident.

Though she couldn't recall the exact date, Kate estimated the accident to have been not quite one year earlier. The writer had been driving his family home to Manhattan from their house in the Hamptons. A trucker traveling in the opposite direction had a heart attack and died at the wheel. The Castle vehicle had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and had thusly been hit head on. The article had listed him in critical condition at that time and though she tried to find more information in later weeks, she never could, so she had assumed he recovered from his injuries, but perhaps that was not entirely correct.

"As you may or may not be aware, about eight months ago, Mr. Castle was-"

"The accident; I remember."

Gina nodded and then bowed her head. "Yes, well, what we didn't release to the papers was how serious his injuries were—to his hands, in particular. He has severe neurological damage and very limited use of his left one. I won't go into detail; the physical therapist can when he's here tomorrow. The fact of the matter is-"

"He can't type." Kate concluded sadly. So while the premise of her position had been in part a ruse, not all of it was a lie. No, Castle's hands were not crippled from age-induced arthritis, but they were permanently damaged from something far more tragic. She glanced towards the door he disappeared through and her heart clenched with sadness for him.

"No. Not effectively, anyway. The next Storm novel was half completed when the accident happened. He's been trying to finish, but it's been…a struggle to say the least. This arrangement is a last-ditch effort to save his career, but I must warn you, Ms. Beckett, he's…a lot to handle right now."

Kate turned back to face the blonde and set her shoulders, lifting her chin several millimeters. "I appreciate the warning, but I'm a police officer; I don't scare that easily." A grouchy mystery writer who appeared to use four letter words as the main part of his vocabulary? That would barely make her flinch.

Gina hummed and said, "Just remember that you said that." She then walked off towards the office area of the apartment and beckoned for Kate to follow. She led the way inside and stood in front of the desk just to the left of center and then gestured for Kate to step up beside her.

Gazing down at the man seated at the desk, laptop open but ignored beside him, Kate tried to see the man she knew as Richard Castle, but it was nearly impossible in his current state. The man's hair was long, straggly, and appeared as though it had not been washed in several days. His eyes were rimmed with dark circles and his beard covered most of the rest of his face. What Kate remembered most from when she saw him in interviews and that one time she'd met him when he signed her book was the sparkle in his blue eyes and his captivating smile. Gazing down at him Kate very much doubted that he'd smiled recently or that his eyes had shone very bright as of late.

On some level, she couldn't blame him. If she had lost most of the use of her hands—hell, even just one of them—she certainly would have been devastated. Functioning hands were a requirement for her job (as, she imagined, they were for the majority of jobs available) so she would have been unable to work, possibly even unable to complete some of her personal care tasks, like washing her own hair. Such a fate would clearly have been an emotional blow so she couldn't judge him too harshly for how he looked, particularly since she'd seen her father slip into a similarly unkempt state she never would have expected from him. Yet, at the same time, it made her very sad particularly since he was not even a little bit at fault for his predicament.

"Rick?"

The man grunted but continued to stare blankly at the desk in front of him and not at the women who stood before him.

"Rick this is Kate Beckett."

Again, the writer did not react, but a moment later the woman bringing his steaming mug of coffee entered the room and Gina continued the introductions. "Kate, this is Juanita; Rick's personal care assistant. She helps him with day to day things—of course we don't expect any of that of you." She added quickly.

Kate greeted the Hispanic woman with a polite nod; Juanita merely blinked in response and then turned her attention to the writer. She placed an atypically tall coffee mug in front of him that was filled three quarters of the way to the top with a chocolate-brown liquid. Inside the cup floated a red straw, its tip peeking up about two inches over the cup's rim. "It's hot, Mr. Castle," she cautioned him before nodding to Gina and then hurrying out of the room.

The writer tilted his head to one side and examined the cup for a moment as though it was covered in ancient writing he had to decipher. Then, slowly, he lifted his hands from his lap and trapped the mug tightly between each of his palms, lifting it several inches from the desk while simultaneously lowering his head and reaching out his tongue to capture the straw when they met in the middle.

As he sipped, Kate could see for the first time the gnarled appearance of the fingers on his left hand. Each of them was curled and twisted beneath itself, almost appearing as though they could not be straightened even if he wished to straighten them. She could see the remnants of scarring on the back of some of them—pale lines etched over the skin, which were probably incisions from surgeries or the insertion of pins or other metal pieces. His right fingers appeared similarly, though not as dramatically curled inwards. Other than his fingers, she could only see the back of his left hand, which was similarly marred with fading surgical scars.

Her heart flipped over in her chest when the writer finally put down his mug and turned his eyes up to meet her curious gaze. She felt her cheek flush as though she'd been caught staring at something illicit and she quickly averted her gaze. She knew it was wrong to gape at someone's scars; she certainly would have been upset had the situation been reversed, but they were just so prominent it was hard not to have her attention drawn to them.

Turning her eyes back to him she cleared her throat and said, "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Castle; I look forward to us working together."

He said nothing but turned his gaze back to Gina, who smiled at him in an overtly delicate way. "Remember, Rick—I told you Black Pawn was going to be sending someone else over to help you with _Gathering Storm_."

He grunted. "I said no more of those idiot, robotic interns."

"She's not an intern; she's freelance. Now, Kate, if you don't mind…" Gina's voice drifted off as she walked over to the loveseat in the corner of the office diagonally across from the desk. There, on one of the cushions sat a dark brown leather briefcase from which she pulled a bound set of white paper, which Kate presumed to be her contract.

Gina explained that the document summarized her compensation structure as well as served as a confidentiality agreement, gaging her both from speaking about Castle's physical condition and the content of the new novel to the media. As Kate had no desire to do either of those things, she signed on the dotted line and accepted her copy of the documents with a thank you.

"Well now that that's settled, I'll leave you two to get acquainted and then get started. You can work out your schedule with Rick, but if it becomes problematic you can let me know," Gina said to Kate. Then, she turned to the writer and added, "I'll be back on Friday to check in."

She and Kate exchanged a handshake before Gina scooped up her briefcase and disappeared from the office. Kate turned back to the desk and found the writer was once again sipping his coffee so she gestured towards one of his guest chairs and asked, "May I sit?" After twenty seconds he hadn't responded, so she sat anyway, crossed one leg over the other and folded her hands in her lap waiting for him to give her direction.

Just as she feared he never would, he gazed up at her darkly and said, "So…they hired you to come and help the cripple write."

"I didn't know you were a cripple Mr. Castle; I didn't even know you were you."

He blinked. "What does that mean?"

"I was told I would be helping a textbook author named Steinman."

"Ah…well there's no need to be formal; I don't deserve it. Just call me Castle. Or Asshole, like Juanita does behind my back. Cheers." With that, he lifted up his coffee mug in mock salute to her and pulled the straw back into his mouth with the sweep of his tongue.

Kate let out a long exhale as she pressed her back tighter against the chair she sat in. All along she feared the twelve weeks of her suspension would go by at an agonizing rate. Only briefly the day before, after accepting the position, did she become optimistic that they'd speed by, but now she knew for certain: they were going to go very, very slowly.

* * *

 **A/N** : As you may have guessed, this fic is going to be a bit different. I teased this one a lot on twitter if anyone follows me there. I had said this fic was kind of a strange mash-up of the movies Dr. Strange and Me Before You but with my own twist. Hope you enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The first thing Richard Castle was aware of when he woke up was a searing pain radiating from his left shoulder socket all the way down his arm and across his upper back. This was not an unusual or new sensation for him; over the prior nine months he could barely recall a time when he didn't wake up in some degree of discomfort. Pain had merely become a part of his existence, but this pain was a bit more than he usually cared to tolerate.

Grunting and groaning, Castle forced himself into consciousness as he rolled over onto his right side and curled his body inward while cradling his left arm against his chest. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and blew it out through his nostrils while the burning pain lessened into a pulsating throb. He had been doing so well not sleeping on his left side, which always made the pain so much worse, but he could not control the way his body moved around during sleep as much as he wished he could.

Sighing out now that the throbbing was dissipating into the joint-encompassing ache he was used to, Castle rolled into a seated position and gazed down at the clock beside the bed; it was shortly before 7. While that was far earlier than he wished to be up, it certainly wasn't the worst hour to be awake, particularly not when he had therapy that morning in a little over an hour.

Castle slithered out from beneath the bedcovers and shuffled his way towards the bathroom while rolling his left shoulder in its socket. After using the toilet and washing his hands, he reached for the bottle of Aleve sitting on the counter and snagged it with his right hand—the only hand he could grip with. Trapping the bottle against his chest with the flat of his left palm, he struggled with the pill bottle's cap for a few moments even though it was one of the easy-open ones designed for someone with arthritis. With it open, he shook two pills into his palm, tossed them onto the back of his tongue, and leaned over to gulp water from the tap.

With the pill bottle back in its place Castle stood in the bathroom for another moment considering his next course of action. Normally he showered when he awoke, but if he was doing PT there was no point to that; he'd only need to clean up again after working up a sweat. No shower, however, meant he'd need to double-down on the coffee in order to wake up. Thankfully, Juanita would be arriving shortly.

Shuffling back through his bedroom and out into the main living space of the apartment, Castle flopped down on the sofa to wait for the arrival of his aid. Though in the early years of his writing career he often dreamed about being rich enough to hire a butler to cater to his every whim, prepare meals, and wait on him continuously, in that moment Castle would have given a large portion of his fortune to have full use of his hands once more in lieu of an employee willing to deliver him whatever food or drink he desired—assuming she was present. Somehow the fantasy just wasn't as fun when he was physically incapable of making his own coffee and egg-and-toast breakfast. Well, perhaps the toast he could manage but only if the bread bag wasn't sealed—and then who would want the bread inside?

"Good morning, Mr. Castle!"

Castle startled awake to the voice of Juanita; evidently he'd dozed off while waiting for her to arrive. His shoulder feeling much better now that the pain killers had kicked in, he gave her as cheerful a hello as he could muster with his stomach growling and eyes still heavy from sleep.

They fell into their regular routine of him sitting at the eat-at counter while she prepared his usual breakfast and, most importantly, the coffee. Typically, they did not speak very much during these early morning interactions. When Juanita first started she had tried to coax him into conversation many times while preparing meals for him or helping him shower, but after he snarled at or simply ignored most of her attempts, she slowly began to carry about her routine in near silence, speaking only when necessary. In years past Castle would have been the one chattering away about anything and everything, but he didn't much care about talking those days—what was there to talk about? As such, he was surprised when Juanita began speaking to him while she delivered his mug of coffee with the straw poking out.

"Will Miss Kate be coming this morning? Should I make her coffee too?"

"Who?" He grunted in between sips of coffee.

"Miss Kate; your new writing assistant."

 _Oh_ , he thought with very little care; _her_.

Despite having spent several hours with her the day before Castle hadn't really given Black Pawn's latest minion much thought. Kate—yes he did recall that was he name now that Juanita mentioned it—would just be another in a long line of writing assistants provided to him. The fourth, if he was not mistaken. Soon she would be driven away by his cursing and general unpleasantness, just like all the others. Even if she did manage to stay he would not enjoy their time together simply because he didn't enjoy telling stories anymore and were it not for Gina's instance he would have been more than willing to give up entirely.

Their conversation took place five months earlier, once he was finally back in New York after convalescing in the spa-slash-rehab-facility he'd escaped to after leaving the hospital. "Make an effort, Rick. Please—for me," she had said to him showing a rare moment of genuine emotion towards him. Considering his accident had been the reason that their marriage had managed to dive from "rocky" to "imploding" in a matter of weeks, he did feel that he owed her the effort and he had made one. Kind of. He simply didn't want to write anymore and that was the problem. Writing—crafting and nurturing a story—involved a great deal of want. Without it, the story was hopeless, so why bother continuing? Soon enough Gina would realize that and, yes, he would lose that million dollar advance Black Pawn had given him, but he had enough money; he'd recover.

"She seems like a very nice lady," Juanita said as she set his plate of eggs and toast down in front of him. A minute later she handed over the fork that was equipped with the extra wide, soft-grip handle he needed in order to feed himself—a thirty-five-year-old man. Pathetic.

"Perhaps she'll be able to help you finish your book."

"Right." He scoffed before scooping up a forkful of eggs and shoveling them into his mouth. He set down his fork and reached out for one of the toast triangles at the edge of the plate, but failed to grasp it on the first try. He shook out his hand, tried again, failed and cursed under his breath. The grasping abilities on his right hand really had been getting better, but his hand didn't always like to cooperate, especially with something that required a tight grip, like picking up a small piece of buttered toast. With perhaps a bit more force than necessary, he stabbed the toast triangle with his fork and used it to bring the item to his mouth for a bite.

 _Stupid hand_.

Castle continued to eat in silence for a few minutes before Juanita reminded him, "Your therapist will be here at eight-fifteen."

"I know."

"And Miss Kate will be here at nine."

"What the—but I—I told her noon! _Noon!_ " he emphasized. Though he didn't really give a shit about the speech she gave to him about being willing to help and something about a background in law, he did distinctly remember the argument they had when she asked when to arrive the next day and he'd told her twelve. She'd evidently been concerned that her eight hour work day would begin at noon and thus end sometime after dark, but he assured her that was not the case. She could feel free to leave at any time she deemed necessary in the afternoon. She'd rebutted stubbornly, asking how they would make progress on his book if they only worked a few hours, to which he'd callously responded, "I don't care."

They'd gone back and forth a few times before he'd shouted to her that she'd still get the same salary no matter if they worked one or eight hours in a day and he didn't want her there before noon. Then, he'd dismissed her in a way that he knew to be rude but he couldn't bring himself to care about and she'd stormed out of his office looking rather heated.

He really didn't care what she thought about their schedule so long as he wasn't keeping her unreasonably late (which he did not intend to). In a roundabout way he was paying her salary which made her his employee and if he didn't want to start before noon then they weren't going to start before noon; end of discussion!

"If she gets here at nine, send her away and tell her to come back at noon. NOON!" he nearly shouted as he pushed himself away from the counter.

Juanita responded with the slightest hint of amusement in her eyes. "Yes, of course, Mr. Castle."

* * *

Stepping out from his glass shower, Castle groped for the two towels hanging on the wall hooks nearby. He tugged one around his waist, and the other he draped over his head and shoulders like a nun's habit. He placed both hands atop his head and attempted to smash the towel around against his hair to dry it, but felt immediate pain and tightness in his left hand. He hissed discomfort and pulled it down against his chest, clutching it there for a few moments, before holding it out in front of him to see that his fingers were still trembling. He cursed to himself.

The stress and overexertion in his muscles and tendons after therapy was something Castle had grown used to in the prior months. As it was more or less the only exercise he regularly had, he didn't always mind it—particularly not in his body. In the early days of his therapy nearly every muscle group was worked by one or sometimes two therapists. As all his broken bones and soft tissue injuries healed, the therapy became more intense and though it was painful, back then he'd been motivated. He wanted to walk again, wanted to move on his own again, wanted to be independent. With therapy on his legs he was able to regain his walking ability with little difficulty. His back and shoulders took a bit more time, but the progress was steady and promising enough. And then there were his damn hands.

Groaning to himself as he tried to towel off the rest of his body, Castle cursed his decision to let the therapist talk him into the extra round of grip strength exercises. Normally, he didn't even bother to work his left hand—what was the point? His right had its good days and bad and might have been better if he did therapy more religiously, but what did it really matter? Therapy just meant pain and pain meant a long, miserable day when he could do little more than stare at a television screen.

In truth the only reason he agreed to hand therapy at all that day was because he wanted a distraction; an outlet for his frustration. Stupid Gina. Why couldn't she just let him wither into the hermit he so desperately wished to be? He'd driven away his mother and his daughter, so why the hell couldn't his ex-wife let him be? No, she had to show up with the annoyingly studious and dedicated _Kate_.

Grumbling to himself at the notion of spending the rest of the afternoon with her, explaining his novel to someone who probably cared only about her paycheck or making a good enough impression to acquire a positive recommendation letter for her portfolio, Castle returned his hands to his head, mushed the towel around a few more times, and then dragged it off, dropping it to the floor without second thought. He then made to do the same with the second towel around his waist, but was disrupted when a few chilly droplets of water fell from the ends of his hair, landed on his shoulders, and began tracing racing lines down his back. Ugh. The water retention really was the worst part of the mop of hair he'd been growing. Yet, at the same time, he didn't feel the need to leave his apartment to get a haircut, so he'd simply accept the droplets.

Now naked, he returned to his bedroom to dress. He reached out to grab the bright orange foam handle jury-rigged to the smaller handles on his dresser, which were too small for him to grip, and retrieved boxers, sweat pants, and a t-shirt from their respective spots with his right hand and tossed all three onto the bed. After bumping the drawer shut with his backside, Castle stepped over to the bed to begin the arduous task of getting dressed.

Though he was forced to accept aid when preparing meals and completing more complicated tasks, Castle had decided early on in his recovery that no matter how difficult it was for him or how much he struggled he needed to learn how to dress and undress himself, for without that skill he would not be able to use the bathroom by himself and, after being forced to wear adult diapers for several humiliating weeks thanks to his fractured pelvis, that was something he desired greatly.

To say learning to put on a shirt and pants was a monumental task would have been an understatement. Since at that point he still only had limited strength in his right hand (the left, meanwhile, was borderline nonfunctional), he had to mostly rely on his only undamaged digit: his right thumb. Using a creative method of pinching the pant waistband between his thumb and the rest of his hand in a lobster claw-like fashion he was able to functionally work pants with elastic waistbands, though shirts were still a struggle for a while.

By that point, three-quarters of a year after the accident, he had use of both thumbs and a few fingers on his right hand if it was a good day. Fortunately, that soon after therapy his right hand was not very stiff so he was able to put his shirt and bottoms on with little difficulty. He knew getting undressed that night would be even more challenging than usual, but he'd deal with that later.

Raking his right hand through his still-wet hair, Castle walked through his bedroom to his office, but stopped when he saw a brunette woman sitting just as casually as ever on one of the chairs just in front of his oversized desk. "What the hell are you doing?" he bellowed to the woman who visibly jumped.

"I, ah, waiting for you." She replied as she slowly stood clutching her oversized purse beneath one arm. "It's nearly ten o'clock."

"I told Juanita to send you away—Juanita!" He called out, walking towards the main living area, but the woman stopped him.

"She ran to the store and told me I could wait in here for you to be out of the shower."

Not believing the woman's explanation, the writer stalked out towards the kitchen where he found, much to his annoyance, that Juanita wasn't in sight. Well, they'd definitely be having that discussion when she returned from the store, but for now he just wanted to sit in peace while holding a bag of ice in his left hand. "I told you yesterday I didn't want you here before noon!" He shouted as he made his way to the kitchen, wrenched open the freezer door, and plucked out one of the ice packs waiting for him. Turning around, he saw the woman now hovered at the office door with a furrowed brow. "Go!" He dismissed her, flinging one arm out towards the door. "Come back in two hours."

"But I'm already here, Mr. Castle, if you just-"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I said so!"

She blinked a few times, clearly growing flustered. "Look if you're not ready to work yet, that's fine; just let me-"

"What part of 'no' are you not getting, lady? I don't want you here until noon. If you have a problem with that, send your resignation letter to Gina." He snarled at her and he could see her cheeks flushing with color. For a moment she looked as though she was going to yell back at him, but instead she turned on her heel and stalked towards the apartment exit where she slammed the door behind her.

Castle muttered various curses beneath his breath as he returned to his office, roughly yanked the glass stopper out of his whisky bottle and carried it over to his desk where his lukewarm coffee awaited him. While he topped off the last inch of the mug with liquor he glared towards his apartment door and decided he didn't care whether or not he ever saw Kate Beckett again.

* * *

 **A/N** : Thank you all so much for your reviews/follows. Hope you continue to enjoy this story!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Standing in the hallway in front of Penthouse A, Kate Beckett chewed on her bottom lip as she watched the remaining minute of her lunch break tick away second by second. Truthfully, she very much doubted the writer would mind if she was a few minutes late (punctuality did not appear to be one of his strong suits) but if she didn't commit herself to the one hour lunch period, it was very likely she would never return at all—and that wasn't an option.

Kate was trying to give Castle the benefit of the doubt—honestly! She was!—but seeing as he was only becoming more disagreeable with their continued interaction instead of the opposite, she was really beginning to think that his publisher Gina under-sold all her warnings about the famous novelist being "a lot to handle."

When Castle quite literally threw her out of his apartment on their first full day of working together she had been infuriated. As she seethed in the hallway waiting for the elevator to arrive, she'd pulled out her cell phone and was poised to call Black Pawn and cancel the deal, but then the elevator doors opened to reveal Juanita who gave her a sad little smile and apologized with, "I'm sorry Miss Kate; I thought once he saw you here he'd change his mind."

While sitting in the closest coffee shop to the Broome Street apartment Kate considered her options. She could cut her losses and quit, returning to her original plan of finding work in a shop or restaurant for the duration of her suspension, but she didn't want to do that. She had agreed to be Richard Castle's writing assistant, she had signed the contract, and what kind of person did that make her if she gave up almost before she began? Yes, the writer had been horribly rude to her, but it was certainly not the first time someone had treated her with disrespect and it would sadly not be the last.

In Kate's mind, Castle still resided in victim mode. Often times when she was interviewing victims of crimes, tying to gather sufficient information in order to fill out the necessary paperwork, those victims would become irate with her. They would yell, curse, and sometimes even insult her. Unless they became physically aggressive, Kate rarely stepped in or asked them to stop, because she did not take their vitriol personally. They were not angry at her, but at the situation, and simply looking for an outlet for their frustration. Similarly, the writer did not have a vendetta against her or exist to purposely make her life miserable (at least she hoped he didn't), but he was in pain and clearly very frustrated, which made him act out. She needed to see past that in order for them to work together which was, of course, easier said than done.

New resolve in her mind, Kate returned to the loft at noon on that first full day as requested. At that time, the writer was far from friendly or jovial, but he was at least reasonable with her. They sat down and she was able to discover her main objectives as his assistant and what was expected of her over the next eleven weeks.

At the time of his accident, Castle had written nine chapters of his latest book, _Gathering Storm_ , and had outlined several others. When he returned from rehab and was back in his apartment, he struggled to write since virtually none of his fingers were functional. As such, he'd used dictation software which was, at best, rudimentary. The software got the words on the page, but the punctuation left something to be desired. In particular, it inserted virtually no quotation marks around spoken words. Plus, there were a bunch of random word mix-ups thanks to homonyms. Thus, for chapters ten thought fourteen Kate would need to take on an editorial role—inserting and correcting punctuation and words that didn't fit. For the remaining chapters of the book, Kate was to take over as a typist while the writer dictated to her instead of the software.

To Kate, all of this seemed rather reasonable and she was beginning to regain faith in their working partnership until she requested to take a copy of the first nine chapters home with her to familiarize herself with the work and thus make her a better assistant. In Kate's mind, she could dumbly add periods or comas where she thought they belonged, but when it came to fixing homonyms and other words the dictation software misinterpreted, she would be more effective if she had the basics of the plot in her mind. Plus, by taking them home with her, she would not be wasting the writer's time. She had no problem reading them in the evening since she was actually a fan of his works (though she did not verbalize that point to him).

Judging by the way he snarled his displeasure at her, the writer disagreed with this idea, so she'd spent Thursday and Friday sitting in the living room with his laptop balanced on her thighs while she read and he sulked I his office while sipping bourbon through a straw.

Kate had hoped that since she caught up on the story they could begin Monday on the right foot—setting aside their dynamite-mixed-with-matches tendencies and make some real progress on fixing up the existing chapters and creating new ones. Further proof of the potential positive outcome was that the writer agreed to meet her at ten a.m. instead of noon. When she arrived he told her that he didn't want to edit, that he had an idea for a new scene he wanted to write, which she had no problems with, and so she began to type.

Barely a few sentences in, Kate was struggling to understand the scene Castle was creating; it made very little sense, but she didn't want to question it as she did not feel it was her place. Perhaps there was some grand plan in his mind that she simply could not see. She continued to type as he spoke, but soon found herself struggling to keep up with his verbal pace, particularly since she had to insert paragraph breaks and dialog quotations. When she kindly requested he slow down or give her a few seconds to catch up, he yelled at her for dampening his creative process. Then, he tipped a bottle of amber-color liquor into his coffee mug and disappeared into his bedroom for fifteen minutes while she remained alone and befuddled in the office.

When he emerged, they continued and the tale became even more fantastical. When a flying saucer entered the scene she could no longer hide the utter confusion from being written all over her face. Evidently noticing this, Castle snapped at her and demanded to know why she was turning up her nose at his masterful creation. She hesitated before asking in a soft tone how the alien ship fit in with the rest of the tale, which was clearly set in a slightly stretched yet believable reality, he mocked her for thinking she was smarter than him. It was shortly thereafter that she suggested a lunch break and he didn't argue even though they'd barely worked more than an hour since she arrived.

After finally mustering the courage, Kate re-entered the loft to begin her afternoon with the writer. She walked casually through the living area towards the office, not purposefully trying to be extra quiet, but evidently she was stealthy enough to enter the office without him hearing her. She froze in the doorway when she saw that he was eating the last of his lunch. Well, attempting to eat it because it seemed the last few potato chip crumbs were eluding him. She watched him try and fail three times to pinch one of the chip fragments lying flat on the plate. He tried first with his thumb and index finger then with his thumb and the flat part of his index knuckle in a sort of scooping movement; neither worked. Ultimately, he shoved the plate away, cursing, and turned back towards the remnants of his coffee-and-liquor filled mug.

Kate pressed her lips together as she watched him sip at the drink; he looked so defeated. This Richard Castle—this pathetic shell of the jovial man she'd once seen tell a story so hilarious to a news anchor that the woman had snorted three times in a row—was but a ghost of his former self. On some level, she couldn't blame him. In addition to being frustrated with his limited abilities, he also appeared to be in a certain amount of pain. She could only imagine how constant discomfort added to the unpleasantness of his attitude, but at the same time it did not give him license to be entirely disrespectful towards her.

She'd tried to let his insults go, let them roll off her back like usual, but this was different than a perp she was trying to arrest or even a victim she was briefly interacting with. They would be together five days a week for the next eleven weeks, which meant fifty-five days in total. She could not tolerate such behavior for fifty-five days. Yet, after watching him fail with the chips, she doubted he would be receptive to a polite request for him to be nicer, so she decided to let it go for the moment and hope the afternoon went better.

Clearing her throat as a way to announce her presence, Kate stepped further into the office and asked, "Did you have a nice lunch?"

He lifted his head and blinked. "Yeah I love being spoon-fed; really makes me feel like a man."

She had no interest in throwing him a pity party, so Kate ignored his comment and instead reached out for the laptop computer that was sitting at the corner of his desk so they could continue with whatever bizarre story idea he fed her that afternoon. She cradled the device against her chest, tapped the trackpad to wake it from sleep, and gazed down at the document on the screen. "Okay, the last thing you have is 'As Storm gazed up at the flashing green lights, a thought dawned on him.' Is that enough or do you need me to read back more?"

The writer gave an uncommitted grunt so Kate merely sat with her hands poised above the keyboard waiting for him to begin speaking. When a full minute passed and he said nothing, she prompted him with, "Castle?"

"What?" he growled.

"Do you want to keep going or would you like me to start editing chapter ten?"

"Do whatever the fuck you want."

Kate sucked in a breath and held it tightly as she counted backwards from ten. If she had only been back two minutes and he was already making comments like that she was in for a hell of an afternoon. Yet, at the same time, she was determined not to yell at her favorite author, so instead she took the high road and said, "Okay; I'll edit."

"Whatever. Just try not to make it worse."

"Oh I think you're doing a good job of that yourself." She muttered, despite herself.

His head snapped up and he narrowed his eye at her. "What did you say?"

Her mantra to play nice with the writer now abandoned she challenged with, "I think you heard me."

"Look, lady, I don't-"

"Excuse me!" She interjected sharply. Oh. _Oh_. That was the final straw.

"My name is Kate, not 'lady', and this," she stood, turning the laptop and pushing it across the desk as she gestured towards the screen, "this is not a Richard Castle novel. I know that, and you know that; it's absurd."

He leaned back in his seat and challenged, "And what makes you think you're such a god damn expert on mystery novels?"

"I never said I was an expert."

"You're bitchy enough to be one."

Though his comment did not entirely make sense and, from the way his voice drifted off towards the end, she believed he'd lost commitment to the nonsensical insult when it was halfway out of his mouth, but it was certainly enough to shoot red sparks across her vision; Kate Beckett had had enough of the writer behaving at a maturity level less than half of his age.

"Look," she began, leaning her hands against the edge of his desk so she could hover over him as though they were in one of her interrogation rooms, "I get that you were in a tragic accident and something terrible happened to you and I'm genuinely sorry about that; it would have been unfortunate for anyone no matter their profession, but it also doesn't give you license to be this much of an asshole; bad things happen to everyone."

He leaned forward with narrow eyes, challenging her. "Yeah? You lose your legs recently? Because then we can talk."

She shook her head, refusing to accept his deflection. "You're alive, Mr. Castle, and from what I hear about it, you're damn lucky to be here." She heard it from Juanita, from his therapist, even from Gina when she'd come to check on them Friday afternoon. Over the weekend she simply couldn't help herself and she'd looked up the accident on an emergency rescue shared database. When she'd seen the pictures of his decimated Mercedes she'd yelped audibly and felt immediately nauseated. It truly was a miracle he'd survived at all let alone come away with several broken bones instead of massive internal trauma; the situation could have been far, far worse.

"Lucky." He scoffed as he looked away from her.

"You are lucky. You might not always feel that way, but you are. Even if you don't believe me, that doesn't give you an excuse to treat me like trash. I'm a human being, a person, and I didn't sign up for this job just to be shit on by a borderline alcoholic, narci-"

"I'm not an alcoholic!"

She let out a derisive laugh that she probably should have kept to herself. Gesturing towards the mug in front of him she said, "It's barely afternoon and that's your third drink—what would you call that?"

"It's five o'clock somewhere," he retorted flippantly.

"Fine, whatever."

Tired of arguing pointlessly with him, she sighed and reached out for the laptop, but before she could pick it up he said, "So why don't you quit?"

She looked up and blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Quit. If you hate me that much—quit."

"I'm not a quitter."

"Oooh bet you were valedictorian, too."

Refusing to let his mocking tone bait her, she squared her shoulders and said, "I signed up for twelve weeks; I'm here for twelve weeks," before picking up the laptop once more and sitting down with it in her lap.

Castle leaned forward in his chair, rested his forearms along his desk and gazed at her with his head slightly tilted towards the left. "And then what? What will Kate Beckett do when she leaves here?"

"That's none of your concern." As he was in a seemingly permanent salty mood she certainly didn't need to open herself up to more ridicule by revealing personal details about herself to him; that ship had long-since sailed. She scrolled upwards through the Word document until she found Chapter Ten and began the tedious task of checking punctuation while trying to ignore the way the man across the desk was staring at her with intent that was borderline creepy.

After over a minute of silence between them he proposed, "If you tell me and I won't put whisky in my coffee for the rest of the week."

Kate's fingers froze on the keyboard and she flicked her gaze up to meet his. "That's quite a bargain," she commented, not really thinking he was serious about it.

"It is indeed and I never back out on a bet." Castle trapped his coffee mug in between his palms and moved it forward on the desk so it was closer to her. Then, he quirked his eyebrow in a challenging manner. "In or out?"

For thirty seconds, Kate considered. It would be nice to have him sober for the rest of the week—assuming he was correct about making good on his bet. And what was the harm in revealing to him a profession that, if he wanted to, he probably could have found out via the internet? "Deal," she said, picking up the mug. "I'm a cop."

"Mall cop?"

"NYPD, jackass," she retorted.

For the first time since she met him, Castle's expression morphed into one of genuine sincerity and intrigue. He leaned back a little bit, his eyes dancing across her face before he asked, "But…then why are you here?"

She let out a mirthless laugh. "That's long story."

"Tell me!"

She gazed at him as though he'd just asked her to reveal her deepest, most intimate secret. "No; that wasn't part of the deal."

"But!"

"No. Now, would you like some coffee without additives?" she asked while picking up the mug and moving to stand. The writer folded his arms over his chest and muttered out a negative response, so Kate set the mug on the floor by her feet and turned back to the laptop in silence.

* * *

Wiping her still damp hands absentmindedly across her black jeans, Kate returned to the office from her trip to the bathroom while thinking about the final edits she was doing on Chapter Ten. The prior hour had been tedious, but she was just about ready to review the work with its creator; she just needed to do one more scan-through to make sure she'd found everything that was missing. She'd barely been seated a few seconds when she heard the echo of, "Bad things happen to everyone," from across the desk.

Lifting her head, Kate met the writer's curious gaze with, "Excuse me?"

"You said bad things happen to everyone."

"They do."

"To you?"

"Sure," she said with a shrug. She was, after all, a person.

The writer hummed, nodded, looked her up and down and asked, "So when did you lose him?"

Confused by the writer's question, her brow wrinkled and she asked, "What?"

He nodded his head towards her left side and said, "You wear a man's watch, yet other than that you appear to be a feminine dresser, which leads me to assume it might be worn as a memory. So when did you lose him?"

Kate felt her cheeks betraying her as they flushed with a pink hue. Well, she had to give him credit for being observant even if he was a miserable grump. However, simply being observant and curious did not mean he'd even come within the same galaxy as being close enough to her to earn that story.

"We're not going to talk about that," she told him. "We're going to talk about Chapter Ten." With that, she placed the laptop back on his desk and leaned in so they could get to work.

* * *

 **There will be no mid-week update this week; the next update will be Saturday Sept 30th**

Sorry guys I'll be on vacation - thanks for all your reviews & follows so far :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Sitting at his desk, Richard Castle stared down at the blinking cursor on his laptop screen and grimaced at it. The blinking vertical line seemed to mock him with its anticipation and promise. It waited for him to craft a scene or dialog or, hell, even write more than two words at once, but he had nothing; absolutely nothing.

That morning as he ate breakfast, he asked Juanita to remove the supply of liquor from his office and put it in the pantry so he wouldn't be tempted to tip any into his coffee (or simply into an empty glass) if the discomfort in his hands or inside his own mind became too much. He'd lost so much of himself over the prior almost-year, the majority of his self-respect included. However, he had yet to back out on a bet and he was not going to start then. He promised Kate no drinking for the rest of the week and he would stick to it.

Probably.

No—no. He was going to stick to it, but by one in the afternoon the tightness in his knuckles had returned and every movement was uncomfortable. He sighed out, lifted his head and gazed away from the laptop screen and to the corner where the now-empty silver cart sat. He just needed a distraction and then he'd be okay.

Turning his head to the left, he intended to gaze out into the main living area to see if he could catch Juanita doing something interesting, but instead his eyes landed on Kate. She sat several feet away on the loveseat pushed back against the bookcases. He shoes were off with her legs curled beneath her as she read through the printed out pages of Chapter Eleven on her lap. She tapped the base of her red pen against the edge of her chin twice, lowered her right hand to mark something on the page, and then lifted the pen again, that time trapping it between her front teeth. Despite these actions being rather dull, Castle was intrigued.

A day earlier Castle did not have any stronger interest in Kate Beckett than he would have had with any random stranger he passed on the streets of Manhattan. She was simply a woman he was working with and when she left he would not think of her again, but that was back when he saw her as another one of Black Pawn's literature minions; someone solely looking to revel in the small power provided to them once they became an editor, or a future author desperate to grab on to the coattails of whatever minimal career he had left as a launching pad for her own. Knowing that wasn't true would have improved his interest in her slightly, but discovering that her true career path lie with the NYPD? Well, that was downright fascinating.

When they first met, Kate's youthful appearance had him guessing she might have been in grad school and this gig was part of an internship. Now he knew that was not the case, as her career path had included the police academy, but he still couldn't imagine her being much older than her mid-twenties, thus he guessed she'd been on the force for more than one year, but probably no more than three or four, which led him to his next query: why was she here?

From what little research he'd done, he didn't know for sure, but at the same time did not feel it was possible to take a sabbatical from a job with the NYPD. Leave would certainly be granted if she was injured and needed recovery time, but he very much doubted the case as he seemed to be the only invalid in their partnership. So why wasn't she on a beat somewhere? Furthermore—why was she available for a twelve week job? Had she quit the force? Her comment the prior day had not implied that, though he supposed it was possible.

Despite the fact that he was practically at the edge of his seat with curiosity, Castle refrained from voicing any of his questions aloud. Over the prior week he'd treated her absolutely terribly and thus was trying to tread lightly. When she'd confronted him the day before, he knew he deserved it, despite the fact that he'd acted passive-aggressive in the moment. In fact, he'd known all along that his behavior was poor, but it had also been purposeful; he was trying to drive her away, like he did every other able-bodied person that crossed his path.

She had been one hundred percent right in her assessment, though. She was a person and did not deserve to be treated poorly or with disrespect. Thus, he'd made a silent agreement with himself that he would not purposefully be rude to her for the remainder of their time together. He had no intentions of being overly friendly or chipper, but he also would not go out of his way to be mean. Some level of surliness was simply now a part of his personality.

"Mail, Mr. Castle." Juanita announced when she walked into the office, momentarily distracting Castle from the way he was observing his new colleague. She slid three letters onto the center of his desk and he mumbled out a thank you.

Trapping the letters beneath the flat of his right hand, Castle drug them across the desk towards him so that he could spread them out and read the return addresses. One was from Black Pawn and he was not expecting anything from them, so he could only imagine what it could contain; he'd read that later, when Kate was not around. The second had the return address of a charity, which he also decided to read later. The third had a loopy scrawl that made his heart flutter in his chest and a soft smile immediately cross his face.

Sliding the third letter towards the edge of the desk Castle flipped it over and, without thinking, pinched one corner of the flap and made to tear it open only to feel a sharp pain in his index finger that had him hissing out in pain.

"Papercut?" He heard from across the room, but he ignored the question. Instead he shook out his right hand, flexed his fingers a few times and then tried again, that time managing to rip the envelope enough to slide the letter out, only he couldn't grip onto it with his throbbing fingers. Cursing, he threw the envelope down so violently against the desk that it skittered off onto the floor by Kate's shoes.

Silently, she uncurled her legs from where she sat, picked up the envelope, pulled the letter out, and set both of them on the edge of his desk. He didn't thank her as he was too busy cradling his right hand against his chest and trying to breathe through the discomfort that coursed through his fingers.

"They really hurt you, don't they? Your fingers."

"What do you think?" he spat. Then, remembering his promise, Castle opened his eyes and gazed up at the woman who looked as nonplussed as ever. "Sorry—I, ah, yes. Some days are worse than others. Today wasn't that bad but…I never know what movement's going to set something off."

That really was the worst part—not knowing, not anticipating. He could have been having a wonderful day and simply reached wrong for a fork during dinner—something he'd done hundreds of times before in the exact same way but suddenly he'd feel a pinch or a pull and be miserable for the rest of the evening and into the next day; there really was no predicting it. Sure, certain things for sure set him off, others he couldn't do at all, but most days were a mystery—and not the kind he liked.

"Your…your therapist told me that you often refuse therapy on your hands."

He briefly wondered when the two of them had spoken, but as the statement was correct he didn't want to deny it. "Peter always said doing the therapy would loosen them up and give me more mobility, but each time I did his therapies my fingers would be so stiff and painful I could hardly type at all, so what was the point?"

"You ever hear of pushing through the pain?"

Momentarily abandoning his plan he snipped, "Oh my god no, you're the first person that's ever said that to me!"

She rolled her eyes. "You don't have to be a dick about it—I'm actually talking from experience."

"Break your leg skiing?" he guessed randomly.

"Took a bullet to the bicep. Not a big deal—compared to your accident it was relatively minor—but it didn't feel great, I promise you that."

For Derrick Storm research Castle had spoken to many gunshot victims and several doctors so that he could portray the incident as accurately as possible. Because of that research, he knew being pierced with a bullet was definitely not something he wanted to experience. "Being shot isn't minor."

She gave a little shrug. "It didn't penetrate very deep. I was lucky—it was a ricochet, but it tore up some of the muscle pretty good. Doctors said I needed PT; I was twenty-three and invincible so I brushed them off."

"When was this?" he asked, hoping to confirm his suspicions about her age.

"Few years ago. But then I, ah…couldn't hold anything in my left arm—at least, not when engaging my bicep, so I did the therapy and now I'm fine."

He pressed his lips together, understanding the point of her story, but still not caring very much about it. "I appreciate what you're trying to say, but as you said—it's not the same thing."

"All I'm saying is: you have me, you have Juanita. You don't have to worry about typing or opening letters while we're here so maybe—and I know this is a totally wild concept but—maybe if you tried your fingers would get a little better. Now, would you like me to unfold that letter for you? I won't read any of it; I promise."

"It's nothing top secret or anything; it's just from my daughter."

Kate smiled as she unfolded the letter and then slid it directly in front of him. "Oh that's nice. Where does she live?"

"Off 6th Avenue."

"In the city? She lives with her mother, I assume."

Castle hummed and leaned back in his seat. "With mine, actually. Alexis's mother, Meredith, left us…oh going on eight years now. My mother took Alexis after the accident and…well, it's for the best."

As much as it saddened him that he hadn't seen his daughter in months Castle knew their separation was in her best interest. He was not in a state mentally or physically to be a father at that time and seeing the pain in Alexis's eyes when she looked at him in his present state was almost too much to bear. Though she never said anything aloud, he could tell she wondered where her amazing, fun, funny father went. Some days, he wondered that as well. The man he was felt like such a distant memory it was almost a dream. Had he really been that carefree? Had he really taken her on those crazy adventures? Had he really gone days on end without feeling any pain?

The aftermath of the accident had been hard on both the women in his life as well as on himself, but he felt Alexis took far more of the burden than she needed to. Though the time immediately after the accident had been clouded with a haze of pain and half a dozen prescription drugs, he did recall Alexis apologizing profusely, saying that had she not been reading, she might have seen the truck coming and could have warned him to swerve, brake, or get out of the way. After he and his mother managed to convey to her this wasn't possible, she began wishing aloud that she was the one with all the broken bones so that he didn't have to suffer; such thoughts completely shattered his heart.

Castle had made sure his mother took Alexis to a few therapy sessions while he was in recovery to make sure she was okay with everything that had happened. Evidently the overwhelming theme of her discussions was that she just wanted her daddy to be better so he could come home. Unfortunately, once he did arrive back, he didn't share the sentiments.

To say he'd been in a bad place back then was an understatement. His mother informed him that Alexis had a near temper-tantrum when she found out she could not greet him at the airport when he arrived. Hearing her shrieking in the background of the phone, something so very out of the ordinary for her, persuaded him into allowing them to visit, but he did not think the interaction had been positive. Alexis had showed up ready to move back in, begging him to let her stay, but he could not. He couldn't even take care of himself at that point; he was simply unable to be the father he wanted to be to her, so despite her tears he told her she had to stay with her grandmother a little longer.

In the months since Castle often wondered if he'd made the wrong decision; if perhaps having Alexis around would have motivated him more in his recovery, but he very much doubted it. Perhaps she would have lifted his spirits some, but he also would have felt guilty that they were unable to do the things they used to together like card games, laser tag, and, well, virtually anything that involved him using his hands. No, it was better this way, better that she didn't have to watch him suffer.

Castle smiled as he read her letter informing him about a field trip her school had taken to the Bronx Zoo and all the interesting animals she'd seen there. He wished he could have been there, that he could have heard all her interesting comments and observations in person, but instead he'd need to wait for the next time Juanita dialed the phone for him; that was the only time he was able to talk to her, because of course he was unable to write back.

At the bottom of the letter was a small drawing of a creature Castle probably would not have been able to discern were it not for the caption that read, _The otters were my favorite!_ He chuckled aloud at these sentiments and then, feeling briefly the happiness he hadn't felt in ages, he looked up and said to Kate, "She drew me a picture of an otter; apparently those were her favorite at the zoo."

Kate smiled. "That's great. I remember going to the zoo when I was younger; my father always used to like to watch them, too."

He nodded to her. "It's nice—that you have those memories of him."

Her brow winkled. "What?"

He gestured towards her left side. "The watch—it's his, right? The only thing I can't seem to figure out is whether you lost him to alcoholism or he died as a result of an alcoholic." He'd been thinking about it ever since the night before, trying to overanalyze her physical reaction to his comment about the watch in the way he often did when trying to create backstories for characters in the name of research. Such notions had always fascinated him, though he actually hadn't thought that way since before the accident. It was…fun. Though, judging from the look on her face, Kate did not agree.

"Excuse me?" she responded in a tone that sounded borderline offended.

Unable to help himself from digging deeper into the hole he'd made for himself in her eyes, he continued. "I've been thinking about what you said to me yesterday: 'Bad things happen to everyone.' That's true, but the way you said it, it was personal. I can see pain in your eyes. You're wounded, but not enough to have something have happened directly do you."

He paused his speech as she stared blankly at him; he wasn't even sure she was breathing. He stood from his desk chair and walked around to the other side as he continued. "You wear a man's watch almost like a talisman. Given how young you are, I'm guessing it was your father's. You seemed extra quick to jump in and call me an alcoholic when, aside from a splash of whisky in my coffee, and perhaps a mid-afternoon drink I'm not sitting here going through bottle after bottle. Though, I will admit you have a point; I was drinking too much. Now that my head is a bit clearer my observational skills have returned. So, which is it?"

She sat up a bit straighter and he could see her arms tucking in tight to her body as though she was physically closing herself off. "I'm sorry Mr. Castle, but I'm not keen on sharing personal details with someone I've barely known more than a week."

"I see." He leaned back against the front edge of his desk and balanced his rear against it. He then folded his arms across his chest while observing the tightness of her lips and the way her hazel eyes avoided his gaze.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to figure out your story," he said truthfully. Suddenly it was becoming the most interesting thing he'd done in months. He'd clearly struck a nerve from the way she was reacting, which meant that one of his two guesses was probably correct.

"Are you just going to sit there and watch me edit this chapter?"

"Probably."

Now she was getting flustered and it, quite frankly, was entertaining him more. She turned back to the pages on her lap for twenty seconds before she slammed the pen down on top of them and looked up at him. "My father's four years sober and that's the last we'll be discussing it. Will you stop staring at me now?"

He gave her a little smile, endlessly proud of himself. "Absolutely."

* * *

 **A/N** : thank you all for your patience :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Kate Beckett hurried out of the elevator so quickly that she nearly tripped over her own feet. Stumbling forward, she braced her left hand against the opposite wall and used it to help her turn towards the entrance to the Castle residence. She was running late and she hated running late—even if it wasn't her fault that the subway line had a delay.

That day—Wednesday—completed her third full week while working with Castle and she was happy to say she felt they'd finally found their stride together despite the rocky start. Castle was…well, most days, he was rather hard to describe. He had eventually apologize to her for his rudeness when they first began working together and she could tell he was making a conscious effort to be as pleasant with her as he could muster, but some days he wasn't all that friendly. She felt she could not entirely blame him, particularly if it was a day she could tell his hands were hurting more than usual, but it still frustrated her.

Insofar as their work, she felt things were going well. She would alternate between editing existing chapters and being the typist for new ones depending on the writer's mood on any given day. She soon realized that all preconceived notions she had about the writing process were romanticized or over simplified. Unlike when she wrote her arrest reports, which were more or less just regurgitations of factual events, Castle did not just sit down and type out a chapter start to finish. His process involved writing, re-writing, re-arranging, flat out deleting and starting over, and a very significant amount of procrastination.

Other than the fact that they were making actual, legitimate progress to Castle's novels instead of whatever bizarre made up alien tangent they'd gone on during the early part of her tenure, Kate was also pleased to see that Castle had returned to doing his hand exercises. He absolutely hated them—as he had told her a multitude of times—and they made his hands hurt terribly, but he was trying them. Sometimes he gave up after five minutes and sometimes he completed the full fifteen, but he was trying and that was the most important thing.

Due to her haste in running late, Kate barely knocked at the apartment door before pushing her way inside, shrugging off her trench coat, tossing it onto the nearby clothes tree and hurrying towards the office. Only when she reached the doorway and saw the writer's desk vacant did she pause, take a breath, and gaze around curiously, calling out the writer's name.

"Over here." She heard in an absolutely pathetic tone coming from the kitchen.

Kate turned towards her left and walked through the living area on her way across the apartment. Just past the back edge of the couch she caught a glimpse of the disaster-zone that was now the kitchen and let out a soft, "Oh dear," under her breath. Evidently, the writer had been bumbling around trying to accomplish things for himself that morning and it had not gone well.

Seated near the edge of the island by the stovetop were two eggs smashed to utter oblivion. A few inches away sat a pile of crumbs and some sort of wrinkled up foil along with a knife. Once she crossed into the kitchen Kate realized that the writer actually sat on the floor behind the island and up against the front of the far counter. He appeared to have most of his forearms and some of his face covered in brown dirt. Above his head, on the counter surface by the sink there was more brown dirt. Considering there was also a mug nearby Kate quickly deduced this dirt to actually be coffee grounds.

Gazing down at the man seated on the floor she asked, "What happened?"

He threw his arms up and then let them flop back down in his lap. "I can't do anything with my stupid fucking hands."

"I can see that. Where's Juanita?"

"Family emergency. The agency said they'd try to find someone else to send over."

Kate arched an eyebrow at him. "You mean high profile celebs don't get preferential treatment?"

He huffed out a breath. "Oh I'm sure they do; I'll have to ask Matt Damon what that's like if I ever meet him."

Kate pressed her lips tightly together. She could hardly imagine someone with Castle's wealth would not be able to rapidly procure an assistant, but she didn't feel like arguing with him. She was there now and evidently if they wanted to get any work done that day the first thing she needed to do was make coffee. "Okay. Let's get this cleaned up. Where are the paper towels?" she asked while unbuttoning the cuffs of her blouse so she could roll up the sleeves.

"No; forget about it. You can just leave and we'll try again tomorrow."

She almost laughed. "And let you sit here on the floor covered in coffee grounds? No."

"Really, Kate you don't-"

"Castle." She cut him off. He was being absurd if he didn't think she would help. Technically, she was being paid to be there and wiping up some spilled coffee and eggs wasn't that much of an inconvenience; it wasn't as though he asked her to clean the toilets or anything.

"There's some under this sink; pantry's around the corner if you need more."

She nodded and reached into the cabinet he gestured to while he pushed himself up off the floor. As she set to work corralling the grounds into one spot so she could dump them into a trash can she asked, "Do you want me to make you breakfast, too?"

"No, I had Pop Tarts."

He gestured towards the counter with the smashed eggs and crumpled, torn-up foil that Kate now realized to be the Pop Tart wrapping. "What did you do?"

"Stabbed it open and accidentally ate a piece of the foil."

Unable to stop it before it escaped, Kate let out a blip of laughter and then quickly covered her mouth with her hand and apologized through it.

A small smile crossed the writer's face "It's okay, you can laugh; I would."

Kate turned back to the counter so she could dump all the spilled grounds into the trash can. Then, she walked over to the coffee maker, checked the water level, and plugged it in. She had been in his apartment enough to know where he kept bags of coffee so she opened the cabinet and reached for one of the closest dark roast bags. Glancing back over her shoulder she asked, "So what's the hardest? Grip strength, right?"

"It pretty much all boils down to that, yeah. You've seen the wide grips I use on spoons and forks. I have one for my toothbrush, too, but the irony is I can't put them on by myself. And then you have something like that," he said, gesturing towards the clip on the bag sealing the coffee to keep it fresh, "and forget about it—can't pinch it well enough to get it on or off."

"Not even with your right?"

"Not really."

Kate almost said she was sorry, but then swallowed down the words as she scooped some coffee grounds into the machine. She imagined that the writer had heard a lifetime's worth of pity and apologies and even a million more would not improve the state of his hands. For her being that incapacitated was difficult to fathom, even if she did seem him struggle with it five days a week.

"I suppose I'm lucky that I'm right dominant and that was the hand least damaged," he said a moment later.

Kate pressed the start button on the coffee maker and turned back to face him. "Also probably the most responsive to therapy since the muscles and tendons were better defined."

"Right. And then there's this thing," he said with disgust while holding up his left hand, which still had the ring and pinky fingers too gnarled to straighten.

"Give yourself time, Castle."

"It's been nearly a year."

"Everyone heals at their own rate."

"Kate, I hear enough support from my therapist; I don't need it from you too."

She huffed out a breath and placed a fist at each of her hips. She was just trying to be nice and positive for him; why couldn't he accept that? "I see—you'd rather me say, 'If you hadn't been so drunk and lazy maybe you could make your own coffee by now?'" The moment the words left her lips Kate felt her face flush. Feeling like she'd gone too far even if the writer hadn't reacted negatively she said, "I'm sorry; that was mean."

He shrugged. "Maybe. But also partly true. I guess you never really know how you'll react to a tragedy until it happens to you."

On that sentiment she could agree one hundred percent. "Tell me about it. Now, c'mon; let's get you a clean shirt while that brews." She beckoned for him to follow across the apartment and into the office that adjoined to his bedroom.

"You really don't have to…"

"Castle its fine; honestly." Kate slowed her pace as she entered Castle's bedroom for the first time. She'd caught glimpses of it from the office, but she'd never crossed the threshold, so she took a moment to gaze at the messy king-sized bed, the clothing scattered about the floor and, though it seemed impossible, even more of his expansive book collection before looking back at him and asking, "So…?"

He gestured towards the bureau by the far wall. "Top drawer—any shirt is fine."

She nodded, walked over and momentarily examined the foam handle extensions, which she assumed for his grip ease, and then pulled the drawer open. She pulled a black t-shirt off the top of the pile, turned around and let out a surprised, "Oh," upon seeing the dirty shirt he wore was already off. With his skin exposed, Kate was able to see the distinct scarring creeping across his left shoulder and down across his left bicep and pectoral muscles. It didn't look exactly like burn scaring, yet the skin was certainly lumpy and chewed up in places as though it had been difficult to put back together.

Though Kate tried not to gawk at his flesh, she realized she'd been looking a bit too long when the writer said, "Oh. Sorry; I should have warned you about my Quasimodo-like exterior."

Kate shook her head and held the t-shirt out to him. "You don't look like Quasimodo. Oh—sorry, do you need help?" she asked, looking down at the shirt and then back up at him.

He shook his head, took the shirt with his right hand and tossed it down on the end of the bed. "Not with shirts. Anything more than elastic waist pants and we'd be having a different conversation, though."

"Can't do buttons or zippers?" She guessed while watching his process of pinching the t-shirt fabric between his right thumb and the rest of his hand until he could separate the opening in the cloth. Then, he stuck both fists inside the layers of fabric and shuffled them around until he could get his hands through the arm holes while simultaneously pulling the item down over his head. Once on his body, he again used the thumb-and-hand pinching method to ensure the shirt was seated properly on his torso.

"Not very well."

"May I ask what happened exactly? I know someone hit you but… you don't have to tell me if-"

"No, no; is fine."

Kate watched as he sat down on the edge of his bed and held his hands in his lap. She had been curious to hear the real story of his recovery ever since learning about the damage to his hands. The police reports offered nothing, which made sense as no police action needed to take place. The accident had simply been that—an accident; no one was at fault. Despite that, she imagined the writer's path to recover had not been a very smooth one.

"We, ah, we have a house in the Hamptons and Alexis and I were out there for the weekend. We were on our way back on Sunday and...I, ah, don't really remember what happened. The last thing I clearly remember was pulling out of the driveway and having a Bentley almost cut us off, but then everything goes fuzzy. We'd been driving about…maybe half an hour when it happened. Alexis was reading so she didn't see it—thank god. And I'm also grateful she always sat on the back passenger side so it was easier for us to talk—we were hit on the driver's side." He explained, looking up at her for the first time. Kate nodded; she already knew that since she'd seen the picture of the car.

"Eye witnesses say the truck didn't even slow down when it crossed the double-yellow. We came around a slight curve in the road and the truck just barreled right into us. I had the window down since it was a nice day so this is all from accident shrapnel," he said, gesturing towards his left chest and shoulder. "I broke all three bones in my left arm, virtually all of them in my left hand, most of my right fingers, my right wrist, dislocated left shoulder, broken pelvis, and some ribs thrown in there for good measure."

Kate felt her stomach lurch; she couldn't even imagine such trauma. "And Alexis?"

He gave her a wry smile. "Barely a scratch on her. She was bruised of course, but that was the worst of it. Thank god."

Kate sighed out, shaking her head as she shifted her weight to her left foot instead of her right. "I can't even imagine waking up like that."

"You mean like Humpty Dumpty after he fell off the wall? Yeah…It, um, actually wasn't the accident that did this—not directly." He held up his left hand in front of him and then flipped it over to examine the back before lowering it back down into his lap. "The surgeon they called in specially to do my surgery wasn't, ah, up to task, shall we say."

Kate's stomach lurched again. "Oh my god…" So the accident really hadn't been the worst of it! How awful.

"Yeah I, ah, can't say much because of the malpractice suit but…yeah."

So that was it; that was the reason he was in so much pain and had such a hard time using his hands on a day to day basis; he was a victim two-times over. "I'm so sorry to hear that, Castle."

He shrugged and stood from the bed. "Yeah, well…Can't change it now. Anyway, ah, that coffee should be ready now and—oh. Guess I should rinse off a little bit more," he said, half-laughing at the brown specks scattered through his arm hair. Glancing up to her he asked, "Would you mind?"

She shook her head and smiled; after hearing his story, pouring some coffee seemed like the least she could do. "Not at all—coffee with a straw coming up."

* * *

Castle winced, gnashed his teeth together and grunted as he tried to lift each of the fingers of his left hand up independently from where they rested on his desk. His digits trembled and sweat formed on his brow as he managed to lift his ring finger just barely a millimeter off the wooden surface. He groaned and relaxed his hand, not yet ready to try again.

When Kate left to go pick up their lunch twenty minutes earlier she'd made him promise to work on his hand exercises while she was gone. He'd begrudgingly agreed, and started with his right hand—the less frustrating of the two. All things considered his right side exercises had gone well. He'd even managed to pick up two more paperclips from the desk surface than he had the last time he tried. Then, he switched to his left and all had gone to hell, per usual.

Gritting his teeth once more, Castle placed his hand flat against the desk and tried to lift the hardest digit—his pinky. It shook, trembled, and vibrated against the desk, but he definitely could not get it to rise up despite putting in a solid effort. Just as he was getting ready to give up he heard, "You have to breathe."

Looking up he saw that Kate had returned and held a large paper bag against her chest with her left arm.

"Oh great—lunch; I'm starving."

"No—go ahead and finish." She stopped him before he could get up.

He shook his head, dismissing the idea. "No use—I'll just-"

"Castle." She calmly approached and set the paper bag down on the side of his desk. "Finish. C'mon just try to breathe through it."

"It's no use, Kate; it's just-"

"If you stopped making excuses you could be done by now."

He momentarily narrowed his eyes at her tough-love approach then huffed out a breath and placed his hand back flat against the desk. He tried—he really, really tried—to lift his right pinky, but it was no use. The damn thing just wouldn't—

"Just breathe."

Castle was nearly startled by the feeling of Kate's hand landing on his shoulder. Evidently she'd walked around behind him while he was focusing on moving his pinky. Now, her right hand was on top of his left shoulder and her left was on the side of it, just above his bicep. And that was…well, different.

"C'mon, try again. Breathe through it."

Her hand stroked gently up and down his arm and, somehow, it did make him feel more at ease. He sucked in a breath through his mouth and pushed it out his nose while struggling with his pinky until finally it lifted a centimeter off the desk. He held it in that position for barely more than a second before collapsing forward, feeling exhaustion through his whole left hand and forearm.

Kate rubbed his shoulder a bit more vigorously. "That was great! You definitely earned lunch now! Plus I have something I want to show you."

"Oh?" he asked, dusting his fingertips over his brow to wipe up the sweat as he followed her towards the kitchen.

She nodded and set the paper bag down on the kitchen island to unload their sandwiches and chip bags. "Uh huh; I'll show you after we eat."

His curiosity more than piqued he said, "Show me now, please."

She let out a light laugh. "Well don't get too excited because I'm not sure if it'll work, but I hope it does."

"What are you talking about?"

She gestured for him to follow her over to the counter by the coffee maker. She reached up into the cabinet and pulled out a quart-sized clear plastic baggie now filled with dark grounds and held it out to him. "So I was thinking about your problem from earlier and this might be a viable solution. This baggie has one of those slide top closures, so I think if you hold it between your palms like this, you can use your teeth to slide it opened and closed." She held the baggie as demonstrated and lowered her mouth to the white zipper closure, though she didn't actually grab it with her teeth. "It might be a little tricky, but I think you can do it. Then you can sort of pour it into the top of the coffee maker and push the button with—what?"

Castle knew his expression must have made him seem dumbfounded and truly, he was. She had rendered him speechless with her thoughtfulness towards his pathetic condition. She could have just rolled her eyes and left him be, a grown man sitting on the floor unable to care for himself, but instead she'd helped him, cleaned up after him, and was now going above and beyond. "You did this for me?" he asked in a tone barely above a whisper.

She shrugged and returned the baggie to the cabinet. "It's just a plastic bag. And, you know, I bet we can come up with some more solutions too. I don't know about Pop Tarts—I could never open those without ripping the whole pack apart anyway, but cereal – I'm sure there are some easy-open containers or Tupperware. And for the milk—a container with an easier to open top. And then…Castle?"

He shook his head and turned away from her, feeling the burning of tears behind his eyes at her kindness. "Nothing; I'm fine," he said quickly before clearing his throat. Then, turning back to her he continued. "It's just…you don't have to do any of this; it's not what you're being paid for."

She gazed at him as though he'd just suggested putting on a space suit and flying to the moon. "It's not about being paid. I just thought of something to help you. I guess I…" She shrugged and dipped her hands into her pants pockets as she dragged her toe across the kitchen floor. "I guess maybe I miss solving things a bit and this was a problem I could solve."

Maybe it was that simple, but as he gazed at her, Castle could not help but think there was more to it—more to her. Kate Beckett was more than just a cop with a former-alcoholic for a father who happened to be helping him with his book. No—there had to be so much more to her story; he was sure of it. The way he'd treated her when they first started working together meant he hadn't earned her trust and thus her story and he accepted that, but that was about to change. If she could show him this level of kindness unprompted it was only fair he did the same.

"Thank you, Kate."

She smiled. "Of course. Now let's eat—I'm starving!"

* * *

 **A/N** : I'm so glad everyone is enjoying this story - thank you for all your reviews!


	6. Chapter 6

**Trigger warning:** This chapter contains discussion of thoughts of suicide/self harm. Neither take place in the chapter; there is only discussion of past thoughts.

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

"Okay, okay—what if Storm and Strike don't find the thug on the streets, but they see him slip into a museum instead. Then they have to follow him through this crowd of school children…"

Kate watched silently as the writer paced back and forth behind his desk chair, raking his right hand through his now barely inch-long hair as though he'd forgotten it was no longer dangling below his ears. Over their month-long partnership Kate had witnessed many different stages to Richard Castle: anger, resentment, disappointment, dedication, and procrastination. This, however, was a new stage and it was called writer's block.

For the prior day they'd been agonizing over one scene in Chapter Sixteen. This scene was supposed to be the one with the great plot twist that would set the course for the remainder of Storm's adventure. Unfortunately, as time progressed it became clear the writer had no idea what that twist would be. They had written the scene twice so far and he'd scrapped both iterations. Now it appeared he was trying to pitch a third, but to Kate it sounded strangely familiar.

"But that, um, sorry." She interjected with a slight cringe when he looked at her oddly. "It just reminds me of that scene in _Storm Approaching_ when he's chasing that guy through the zoo and they run into the kids in the reptile house…but, I mean, if you're going to make it different then-"

"No, shit." He cursed and dropped his hands down to his sides. "You're totally right, but may—wait." He stopped pacing and stared at her curiously. "You've read that book?"

"Ah…" Kate hesitated, not sure if she really wanted the writer to know just how much of a fan she really was. "Sure…I've read a few _Storm_ books."

"Really?"

He sounded intrigued and her betraying cheeks flushed a pink hue. Turning her eyes back to her computer, Kate cleared her throat and said, "Anyway, as I was saying if the scene is different enough no one will remember so-"

"You remembered."

She gave a little shrug. "But I'm a cop; I'm more observant than most. I'd like to think, anyway."

The writer hummed and resumed pacing. "But…I don't know. I should come up with something different. I just feel so…" He brought his hands up and balled them into fists while shaking them in front of his face.

Kate felt for him. She had no experience with writer's block and thus had no suggestions for how to break it or even how to push through. Still, she felt compelled to do something or say something to help him, so she suggested the first reasonable thing that popped into her head. "Perhaps you should go for a walk to clear your head. It might spark a new idea…maybe?"

He looked at her as though she'd just invented a new atomic element. "Or—to find inspiration! C'mon let's go."

"O-oh. Okay." She quickly stood and followed him as he led the way out of the office. She had not exactly anticipated joining him on the walk, but she supposed that would be part of her responsibility as his temporary assistant.

Once they'd descended down to street-level together, Castle immediately walked north a few blocks until he descended into the subway and they caught the R line going towards southern Manhattan. He didn't speak other than to give her directions on where they were going next, but when he exited the subway car at the Battery Park platform, she could not help but be intrigued.

He led the way along the pathways until they reached the river and he was able to lean on one of the railings and gaze out toward the Statue of Liberty. Kate stood beside him being equally quiet but even more curious as to why they'd come to that particular park and why they were watching the water instead of the people, who she presumed would provide better inspiration for his blocked story.

After nearly five minute of silence he asked, "You're a native New Yorker, right? I realized I never asked; I just assumed."

She bobbed her head. "I am."

"Ever live anywhere else?"

"Semester in Kiev during school and, ah, spent my freshmen year at Stanford before transferring back to Columbia."

"That's nice; a good experience, I'm sure. I've traveled a lot but I can't say I've ever really lived anywhere else—at least, not for an extended period of time."

"Well, we do live in the most interesting city in the world, so…" Her tone was light, but the writer didn't react or smile. He seemed lost within himself somehow.

After another minute of standing at that place in the railing, he pushed himself away from it and continued to stroll down the park path; Kate trailed just a step behind him. A few hundred feet later they came upon a crowd of tourists trying to take video footage of the ferries in the harbor. Trying to get around them proved more difficult than Kate would have anticipated; it was quite a tight squeeze. At the end of the group, Castle was unfortunately jostled quite a bit on the left side by a discourteous man with a camera tripod. As they walked away, Kate could see that he was wincing and rolling his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" she asked once they got to a quieter, less populated part of the walkway.

"'m fine." He grunted out, rubbing his shoulder with his left hand. "Guess I'm just not used to people…"

"Those were rather inconsiderate people," she pointed out. Not apologizing or saying, "excuse me," after bumping into someone certainly qualified them as inconsiderate in her book.

"Still. I…I've spent a lot of time indoors over the past ten months. My fault, really. I just…I couldn't…"

His voice drifted off and he leaned up against the railing once, dropping his chin to his chest. Kate watched him, taking in the taunt muscles in his jaw and the straight line formed by his lips. She could sense something was amiss with him; something other than writer's block. Her gut told her it was something deeper, but she couldn't exactly figure out what it was. He'd come so far over the past few weeks she didn't want him to be backsliding.

Stepping up beside him, Kate studied his face closely. Finally after four weeks she was able to see every inch of it now that his "homeless man scruff" was gone (that had been the terminology he used after revealing his clean-shaven face to her three days prior.) Later that same day he'd gotten a haircut, which finally restored him into the regular Richard Castle she'd come to know over the years. Though he was much thinner and perhaps more haggard looking than the man who had signed her novel, he was still attractive, just a bit more ruggedly so.

His blue eyes that had been so clouded with pain when she arrived had finally begun to clear, but now they were shadowed once more. His jaw was clenched and his shoulders stiff almost as though he was expecting a physical blow that never came. Curious.

Just as she was about to stand a bit closer to him hoping to encourage conversation he said, "Did you ever have a darkest moment?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean a darkest moment. A moment when you thought…maybe it would be better if it all just…stopped."

Kate sucked in a breath and unconsciously leaned a few inches away from the writer. Surely…surely, no. No! Was he really…? Could he really be talking about what it sounded like: a darkest moment during which he contemplated ending his life? Kate could hardly fathom that notion for she had certainly never had such a moment. No matter how things could be in a singular second, there was always the possibility of them getting better. Yes, she imagined it was hard for him in the wake of learning how severe his hand injuries were, but in her mind that was not a reason to give up entirely.

Apparently her opinion wasn't well hidden on her face because Castle continued with, "I know what you're thinking—but you had a daughter, didn't you want to live for her?"

Oh, well, no she had not initially thought of that, because in that moment she'd been so shocked she forgot about Alexis, but yes! Yes she did think that! She was not a parent herself and thus had not experienced such emotion but she could certainly understand it.

"I did, but the thing was—I wasn't living," he continued. "I was in pain every second of every day. I couldn't effectively take care of her because I couldn't even take care of myself. I just saw that bottle of pain meds and thought…what if? The irony was I couldn't even off myself because there was no way in hell I could get the bottle open."

Kate felt as though she'd been struck in the chest and she exhaled out, "Castle…," for if that was how close he truly came, she was genuinely worried about him.

He offered a slight smile. "Don't worry; I came out of it and I know how selfish that was—particularly since Meredith—my first ex-wife, Alexis's mother—isn't really a part of her life and I'm the only parent she has…well, has some of the time now. I just…I'd had bad things happen in my life before, but I'd always used writing as an escape, to help me cope, but with my hands the way they were that was gone too."

"I thought you use dictation software?"

"I do, but it's not the same—doesn't have the same feel. It's been a hard adjustment."

Kate nodded, understanding these sentiments. In the wake of her mother's death she'd always used staying busy as her coping mechanism. She was busy with school. Busy taking care of her father. Busy with the police academy and studying the legal system from every angle. But then, once she'd graduated and was on a traffic beat that was mundane at best, she'd struggled. Struggled to keep herself from drifting toward a dark place. She had drifted and that drifting had landed her in that exact position. Bad as that was drifting had been her coping mechanism and if it had been taken from her? Well, she wasn't sure what would have become of her. She was certain, however, her life would not have become as dark as Castle's had.

Turning towards the fractured writer she promised him, "You'll get back to typing someday—you will." She reinforced when his expression turned skeptical. "You've already very close with your right hand." In fact she had seen him typing with it. His speed was very slow and he mostly used only his index and middle fingers, but it was still typing.

"But the left one is the worst!"

"You'll get there," she assured him. "And, to answer your question—no I never had a moment like that, but I…" In that moment, the vision of her father sprawled out in the kitchen of their apartment, broken bottle of vodka beside one hand, pool of vomit by his face flashed into her mind and a shiver traveled down her spine. No, she didn't have experience with someone actively trying to end their own life, but she had seen the destruction that grief and depression caused in someone she loved.

"I can understand what darkness can do to someone, hard is that is to watch."

"Your father?"

She bobbed her head once in response.

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head, desperate to change the subject from the one that made her insides feel like they were being shredded. "It's fine. Let's just…let's just keep walking."

* * *

Returning to his apartment, Castle could not say for certain that he had come up with a better idea for Storm and Strike than chasing their bad guy through the museum, but he did feel better about his life in general, which was certainly something.

Earlier that afternoon when Kate had pointed out the similarity of his scene to an earlier work, he had been unexpectedly struck with an overwhelming sense of self-doubt; the same sense he'd had ever since waking up in a hospital bed with his hands bandaged beyond recognition. What if he'd lost his gift? What if his talent had gone away along with the accident? No, his head had not suffered any physical damage (fairly miraculous considering the rest of him had) but psychologically and emotionally he was a broken man. What if his skill with the written word just…evaporated?

Of course, the longer he stayed away from writing the harder it was to turn back. Thanks to Kate he was beginning to make studies in the right direction, but evidently he could still be set back by simple bumps in the road. That was what had him thinking about some of the darkest moments of his life.

Turning back towards the woman hanging her jacket up by the entry way, Castle could not help but be just as intrigued by her as ever. She was so kind, helpful, and patient with him. It was not a stretch for him to imagine her in a position with the police department and treating a victim with the same "kid gloves" as she treated him while he was in one of his more disagreeable moods. Yet, such thoughts made him curious once again as to why she was there with him and not dressed in a uniform sitting patrolling the streets of the city.

When she first revealed her true profession to him, Castle had asked for her story and she refused, but that had been a full month earlier. They were in a different place in their partnership now. They were almost—dare he think it—friends. Plus, he had just shared a heavily intimate and emotional moment with her, so perhaps now was a good time to broach the subject.

"Hey, so, ah, I was thinking…you dealing with me probably brought back a lot of old memories about your dad and I guess I should apologize for that."

She shrugged and shook her head. "You already apologized—twice, I think; it's fine."

"It must have been really hard for you with your dad—I mean, you were still in college right?"

"Yeah." Her voice sounded a bit raspy and she turned away from him.

"Would you rather I not ask you about this?"

"If you don't mind."

"Can I ask you something else?"

"Ah…" She hesitated and took a few steps towards the office. "Why don't we just write that scene? Storm and Strike in the museum. Maybe it'll work, you never know, and-"

"Kate." He caught up to her by that point, just as they were crossing the threshold into the office. She stopped walking, but did not turn to face him until he asked, "Why are you here?"

Her brow wrinkled and she gazed up at him. "What does that mean?"

"You said you were a cop, but yet you're here helping me write, which can only lead me to assume that something happened. So I ask: why are you here, Kate?"

She turned away from him, folding her arms over her chest as she approached the chair she'd been sitting in since the beginning of their partnership. "It doesn't matter."

"I think it does."

He was absolutely toeing the edge of the line now, he knew it, but he could also feel it; he was on the verge of something. That feeling was far more exciting to him than Derrick Storm or Clara Strike or any of the other dozen characters he'd created over the years. Kate Beckett had a story to tell and he couldn't wait to hear it.

"I, ah, I was suspended—three months."

"For what?"

"Investigating something I shouldn't have."

"Something personal," he concluded aloud without second thought. She didn't look at him or respond verbally, so he knew he was right. A dozen different ideas passed through his mind in that moment as the cogs of his brain whirred to life trying to solve her mystery.

Kate was wounded, yes, but not enough to be a victim herself. The victim had to be someone she cared about, someone she loved. Her father? No, she had already said he wasn't dead. He was a recovering alcoholic. What had triggered his alcoholism? Was it the pain of an accident like his? Possible. Or was it someone else? A sibling? A cousin? It was something—something just out of his reach. Something had happened in her past that—

Castle's thought process was entirely derailed by when he witnessed a single tear slipping out of her right eye, the only one he could see from the way her body was angled.

Shit.

He'd been so focused on his enthusiasm in discovering the story he'd completely failed to remember that she was the one hurt by her personal tragedy and his incessant questioning had probably dredged up unpleasant memories for her. Clearly, it had, for he did not imagine her to be the type of person who cried very easily, especially not in the company of others.

Stepping up beside her, Castle felt an unexplainable force compel him towards reaching out his hand to touch her face. Just as she had touched his shoulder to relax him during his hand exercises, he wanted to take away her pain the best way he knew how. Reaching out his still gnarled left hand, he pressed his index finger against the edge of her jaw to scoop up the escaped tear and brush it away.

The exact moment his skin touched hers, Kate gasped and leaned away, leaving Castle to fear he'd offended her with his less-than-perfect appendage. "Sorry, I—I know my hand is gross."

She sniffed and wiped her fingers under her eyes before shaking her head. "What? No; you just startled me. You're not gross—unless you don't shower."

He smirked at her joke. "Funny. Are you okay?"

She brushed off his concern. "I'm fine. Let's just get back to Storm and Strike okay?"

"Okay." He agreed halfheartedly but in reality he knew for the rest of the afternoon his mind would be focused only on a woman named Kate.

* * *

 **A/n:** Thank you all so much for your comments/reviews for this fic. It makes me so happy to read that so many of you find it to be a unique and interesting idea, because that is always what i strive for.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Well, Rick, I have to say I am thoroughly impressed. If I actually believed you could get this far in six weeks I would have hired Kate months ago."

Kate smiled softly to herself as she stood at the entrance way to the office behind the blonde literary representative. When Gina showed up to meet with Rick and review his latest set of finished chapters, Kate had offered to make herself disappear for half an hour, or however long was required, but they both refused. The meeting was meant only to be brief and she had already signed a nondisclosure agreement so there was no sense I running her off.

Though Gina's comment was kind, Kate knew she could not take credit for the vast majority of the writer's transformation. True, she had nudged and, at times, coerced, but at the end of the day she couldn't make him change, he had to want to. Thankfully, he had reached that point but, again, not because of her. She imagined there were plenty more women in the city who could have done the same—maybe even some men—all of whom would have been the ones hired if the position was required any earlier, for she would have still been on her police beat.

"Thanks, Gina; I'm quite happy with it myself."

Tucking the sealed manila packet of chapter pages under one arm, Gina nodded to Castle. "Well I'll be back in another month to check on you—just don't fall off the wagon again, Ricky."

"I'll try."

Kate could hear a hint of snark in the writer's tone and couldn't blame him; in her mind Gina's comment was not entirely appropriate. Yes, Castle was having more good days than bad, but there were still some times she could tell he was truly in pain and those were days when she was met with more grouchiness than not and not much writing was done. She tried to guide him through it as best she could but she still worried he would have a major setback. Fortunately, that hadn't happened yet.

Gina turned and made her way towards the office exit and Kate smiled at her, preparing to say goodbye, but her smile was replaced by a wrinkled brow when Gina pulled a standard-sized white envelope out of her bag and held it out to Kate saying, "Here."

She took the envelope slowly and flipped it over, looking for markings; there weren't any so she asked, "What's this?"

"Your bonus."

"I…I don't…" She stammered and looked over at Castle, who appeared to be smiling knowingly and back to Gina. "There must be a mistake; there's no bonus in my fee structure." Her contract had stated a weekly rate, which she felt was already more than generous, and nothing more.

"Ah, that was me." Castle chimed in and Kate whipped her head towards him. "I wouldn't have hit my deadline without you, so you're getting a bonus. Plus, think of it as my final peace offering for how terribly I treated you during our first week together."

"This really isn't necessary."

He smiled. "Yes it is."

"Well, I'll let you two fight it out. Nice to see you again, Kate." And with that, Gina waved to them both and headed out of the apartment.

Kate continued to hold the white envelope in her hand as though it were a bomb that could detonate if she moved too quickly. "Castle, really."

"Kate, please; I insist. Now, let's continue with Chapter Seventeen, okay?"

Kate glanced down at the envelope once more, almost fearful of the value printed on the check inside. She didn't need money; never had. She needed enough to live, of course, and preferred to do so in a moderately sized apartment that had a very limited vermin population, but she didn't do what she did to get rich. She took satisfaction from helping people, like victims, like Castle, and that was generally all the payment she needed, but she also didn't feel like ruining their writing progress by arguing so instead she slipped the envelope into her purse and sat down. Before she could reach out for the laptop, though, he said, "Wait; I think I need more coffee first."

She let out a breathy chuckle. "I'll get it." She stood and held out her hand with her mug which he passed to her with little thought. She took it from him and almost turned to go towards the kitchen, but then stopped when her brain processed what it had just seen. From the way he was angled at his desk looking at the laptop screen, his mug had been nearest his left hand and so that was the one he'd used to hand it to her. That was the first time she'd seen him use that level of dexterity on his left side. True, he was mostly only able to grip with his index finger and thumb, but that was a hell of a lot more than he could do six weeks earlier.

Kate opened her mouth to praise him for what he'd done, but then thought better of it. She didn't want to call out his progress just in case he was uncertain about it, or would simply brush it off as a fluke; the result of him having an atypically good day. She didn't want him to diminish his accomplishment, so she let it go, but she really was proud of him. His dedication to his hand exercises was finally paying off and it made her hopeful that maybe when it came to Storm's next adventure he'd be able to type it out entirely on his own.

* * *

"'…and then he watched Strike disappear into the night.' That's what we have for the end of the chapter. Good?" Kate gazed up at the writer when she reread the final bit they'd been working on that Friday afternoon. Several days had passed since Gina had congratulated them on meeting the deadline and making continued process and neither of them had wanted that momentum to die out. Though they'd had a rough time that morning, the afternoon passed quickly once Rick was on a roll with the scene he'd created.

Standing up from where he sat in the alcove by the windows, Castle nodded and stepped forward. "Yeah, yeah I think that's a good place to end it. At least for now. I'd like it to settle over the weekend and then—what time is it?"

"Oh um." Kate paused and glanced down at the block in the bottom right hand corner of the computer screen. "About five-thirty."

"Shit."

She shrugged and saved the document they were working on. "Yeah I know time got away from us, but don't worry about it; I don't have evening plans."

"But I kind of do…"

"Oh!" Her eyes widened and she felt her face flush with embarrassment. Of course he hadn't been concerned about her, but himself! "Crap—sorry. I'll be out of your hair in two seconds I just-"

"No, wait; I'm sorry." Castle stepped up quickly and shook his head. "I didn't mean it to sound like I was throwing you out. I just—" His speech was interrupted by the sound of the apartment doorbell ringing and he cursed beneath his breath.

While he nervously glanced towards the door, Kate continued to put the laptop away and collect her things. "Don't worry about me at all; I'll be gone as soon as I get my shoes and jacket.

"No, you don't—I mean, I—just…hold on."

As the writer hurried from the room Kate zipped up her bag and snatched her shoes off the floor; she'd put them on in the hall if she needed to. She went to walk away but her purse strap caught on the chair handle, yanking her backwards. Cursing, she struggled to untangle the object all the while being slightly annoyed with Castle. If he had warned her when she arrived that day he needed her to be gone by a certain time she would have paid better attention!

Just as she untangled her bag she heard an excited yelp of, "Daddy!" from the other room.

Oh. Well. That did explain why Castle appeared so flustered all of a sudden. The way she understood it, he kept in contact with his daughter mostly through the letters she sent him and a weekly phone call and she actually had not seen him in person for quite some time. _Damn_. Now she really wished she'd been able to escape faster; the last thing Kate wanted to do was interrupt a very important family reunion. Unfortunately, there was no other way out of the apartment than through said reunion.

Stepping into the living area, she saw Castle standing near the door with a petite red-headed girl latched around his neck, her bottom of her shoes dangling at least two feet off the ground. Behind them stood an older woman, also with red hair, wearing a lime green jacket with a purple-and-red dress beneath. As Castle had once mentioned his mother was an actress with dramatic tendencies, it was not difficult for her to guess who the second woman was.

Kate crept closer to the door, trying not to interrupt the father-daughter reunion, but she was soon spotted by Castle's mother, who stepped around the hugging duo and said, "And you must be the infamous Kate Beckett."

She felt her ears grow hot as she said, "Ah, infamous?" for she did not feel like the term could possibly refer to her.

Castle's mother nodded, walked over and pulled her into a hug without second though. "Yes of course. You helped return my son back to his old self."

"Oh…oh I—I don't know about that," Kate said, now feeling as though she was the one flustered.

She pulled out of the hug and watched Castle set his daughter back on the ground. "I'm far from back to my old self, Mother; but I'm on my way." Turning to his daughter, he stroked his right hand over the top of her head and said, "Alexis, say hi to Ms. Beckett."

"Kate's fine," she told the curious girl with bright blue eyes. "It's nice to meet you Alexis; I've only heard good things from your father."

"Thanks for helping my dad."

"Of course." Then, gazing between the other two adults in the room, Kate said, "It was nice to meet both of you, but I really should be-"

"Oh no, please stay and have dinner with us."

Despite Castle's mother's kind offer, Kate genuinely did not feel right about intruding on their family time. If Friday night dinner was a weekly occurrence and she just happened to be there for one of them that might have been acceptable, but she knew this was a reunion and she simply did not feel right about interfering even if she had been invited. "That's very kind of you, but I can't intrude on family bonding time."

"Well," Castle began as he glanced back towards the kitchen where Juanita was working, "it looks like dinner isn't quite ready yet—have a drink with us?"

Kate fought to keep her facial expression neutral. He was making it hard to say no! Ultimately, with three pairs of eyes staring at her she felt she had no choice but to agree. "Ah, yeah ok." She sighed and set her purse and shoes down by the door. "Just one drink."

* * *

"Okay, Alexis, I think it's time to go."

"What, no!' Alexis whined in the direction of her grandmother. She then slid closer to her father on the couch and stubbornly wrapped her arms around one of his. "We just got here!"

"Gram's right, Pumpkin; it's nearly bedtime."

Alexis turned her crystal-blue eyes up at him and said, "Then I'll stay and go to bed here."

Castle's felt his heart clench in his chest at her innocent expression. God, he had missed her laugh, her voice, her smile; he missed her so much. It had been nearly a year since they live together as a family and many months since he saw her with regularity. He hated himself for their separation, because he hated missing out on her life. More so, he feared the longer it went on she would no longer forgive him for keeping them apart. Yet, he knew it was for the best. It was far better for her to have less memories of him than to have memories of horrific experiences.

"Not tonight, Alexis."

"But why? Why can't I stay with you, Dad? I won't be in your way; I promise. I'll stay upstairs in my room."

"Alexis." He sighed out before picking up one of her hands with his right and giving it a squeeze. "You would never be in my way and I certainly wouldn't want you to stay in your room all day—then I'd have to go all the way upstairs to talk to you and you know how much Daddy hates stairs." His comment elicited a smile from her, but only a small one. "I know it's hard for you to understand right now, but it's really best for you to keep living with Gram. I promise you'll be back home sooner than later, though."

"Soon like next week?" She asked excitedly.

"Mmm no not that soon, bug. But maybe in a month or two."

He was making good progress with his hands, he knew that and was happy about it, but he still didn't trust himself. Of course at twelve Alexis was largely capable of taking care of herself. What she couldn't do Juanita would certainly be able to help with, but that wasn't how he wanted them to be. He didn't want her to have to watch Juanita helping him with things he couldn't do. Perhaps he was being too stubborn with his ego, but he wanted to be able to do things for her himself and with her still living with his mother, that added to his motivation to press through the pain and continue with therapy.

Alexis sighed and flopped her he'd back against the couch. "Fine, but will you at least come and visit me?"

"How about we have dinner together at least twice a week?" he offered as a bargain.

A grin exploded across her face. "Okay!"

He smiled, hugged her, and then walked with her and her grandmother to the door. They exchanged another hug and I love yous by the door. His mother sent Alexis out into the hall to wait by the elevator before turning to her son, squeezing his arm and saying, "Glad to see you're doing better, Kiddo. Keep this up, why don't ya?"

He smiled, leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Don't worry; I intend to."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Sitting at the island countertop in his kitchen, Castle set his fork down on his now-empty plate, reached for the final scrap of toast, popped it in his mouth, and then picked up a napkin quite pleased with himself. For the first time since before his accident he had eaten an entire meal using his hands and a regular fork—one without the extra-large grip designed for those with arthritis or other ailments. True, he was only able to do so with his right hand (the left one still needed extra help when gripping), but it was certainly an excellent way to start his week and he hoped to continue the trend.

Crossing back across the apartment to finish getting ready for the day Castle thought with pride about his accomplishment. The road had been long—nearly a full year—and filled with more physical pain and frustration than he ever could have imagined, but he believed that he'd come out the other side a better, stronger person, even if he had not yet reached the end of his journey. Though the success of eating breakfast with a fork like a normal thirty-five year old male made him want to sing out with glee, he managed to restrain himself with the reminder that it was the first time and he still had some difficult days, even if the good outweighed them.

Castle knew that he was largely to blame for the delay in his progress. Had he committed himself, had he stopped making excuses, he might have reached milestones weeks if not months earlier. He'd been afraid of the pain, afraid of failing, afraid of accepting the crippled status that might be his new reality should the therapy fail, but in the end all those things had really been what prohibited him: his fears. Yes, to that day he still cringed at the thought of his hand exercises with his therapy ball and the variety of other tools provided, particularly when it came to his left hand, but the discomfort from those exercises ultimately helped to rebuild the strength in his muscles and tendons.

Still excited from his success, Castle reached out for his toothbrush casually, plucked it from its holder beside the sink, and promptly dropped it onto the counter where it skidded into the sink bowl. Cursing under his breath, he reached for it and ran it under the running faucet to rinse off the brush head before smearing paste on the toothbrush. Though he was able to grip it enough to clean his teeth, by the end of ninety-seconds his thumb ached from the grip strength required to hold the brush firm enough for it to be useful.

Cursing again, he dropped the brush back into its holder. So much for those fantasies of being able to wear jeans again without Juanita being there to help him. Though he initially felt the urge to sulk, Castle caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and paused. He could see it even then—the change in himself. It wasn't just the lack of hobo-esque appearance since he now kept up with monthly haircuts and regular shaving, but more. His skin was clearer, less pallid, and the bright blue luster had returned to his eyes. Part of the shift had to do with his change in attitude, but the rest, he knew, had to do with—

Castle's inner thoughts were interrupted by a distant muffled door slam and the melodic call of his name. "Coming!" he called out in return to his literary assistant turned friend (or so he liked to think of her). Rushing out to his bedroom, he stripped off his t-shirt, pulled on a fresh one, and then scurried out to meet her just as she entered his office. "Hi—hey—good morning!" he rushed out, slightly breathless. "Did you have a nice weekend?"

She tilted her head, clearly a mixture of amused and confused. "Um, yes…did you? You seem very chipper this morning."

He shrugged. "Just excited to get started. I, ah, I even wrote most of a chapter."

"You did?"

Her smile sent tingles through his heart until he was forced to confess somewhat sheepishly. "Well, spoke it anyway—back to the dictation software, I'm afraid." Though he was making good progress typing with his right hand, he could still mostly only use his index and middle fingers on his left and could not hold it in proper keyboard position, which made the chapter typing progress quite slow. Dictation remained his main way of novel-creation and it came with the drawback of lacking punctuation and other necessary elements. He didn't mind that as much now, though; not since Kate had entered his life.

"Well that's okay. Just let me get some coffee and then I'll get started on the chapter."

"I'll get your coffee." He insisted, moving quickly towards the office exit to beat her there. "Anything else? Water?"

She half-laughed with amusement. "Ah, yeah, water would be nice; thanks Castle."

He smiled at her. "Sure; of course. Go ahead and get started; computer's already on."

* * *

Half an hour later, Castle sat at his desk with his hands resting flat on the surface as he intently watched the face of his writing assistant. Perhaps his staring could be construed as creepy by some, but really he was just excited; he couldn't wait for her to get to certain parts of the chapter he'd crafted so he could get her reaction, her opinion.

Before his accident, Castle would never have considered having a writing partner, fearful it would cramp his style. Yes, he'd been known to run ideas or scenarios by those in his life at the time: friends, girlfriends, wives, and even his daughter on occasion, but writing _with_ someone? He never would have entertained the idea. And then his hand had been forced—rather, he'd been forced by his hands—and it had worked out better than he'd ever anticipated. True, he wasn't exactly writing with Kate; the words he used were his own, but he was able to read her expression as she typed them and they provided him instant feedback on whether or not a scene was successful or would end up being a mistake.

Late the prior week they'd been reviewing the chapters he'd completed as he struggled with where to go next when an idea hit him and he informed here they were going back to the beginning of Chapter Sixteen and starting over. Clearly confused, Kate rebutted and asked how that was possible, particularly since that chapter had been in the bundle submitted to Gina. Castle had laughed and informed her that such submissions didn't really matter; they merely served as proof he was making progress and not sitting in his underwear watching pornography all day long. Once she finished rolling her eyes at his comment, they set to work.

Despite the fact that he did like the direction he was taking Storm in better this time, he still struggled with scenes for most of Friday. When Kate left for the week he promised to jot down any ideas he had so they could start fresh Monday but a scene idea had come to him and he'd run with it—nearly writing a whole chapter in the progress. Now, based on how long she'd been reading for, Castle imagined she was nearing one of the scenes he most anticipated her reading and watched her casually sip her coffee with bated breath.

Just as he expected her face to light with intrigue and her to bite her lip in that cute little way that she did, the exact opposite happened. The conversion of her expression was a slow fade from serious focus to washed-out confusion. He watched her chest rise and fall faster and faster until she brought her hand up to cover her mouth, her fingertips hovering just above her top lip. When he noticed her eyes begin to glisten with tears, Castle's stomach fell several inches in his gut and he knew something had gone horribly wrong.

"Are you okay?"

She didn't react to his words, but instead leaned back from the computer screen and looked a few shades paler—if that was even possible. His concern growing, Castle stood from his chair and walked around his desk toward her while asking, "Kate, are you sick?"

She managed to shake her head before pushing the laptop away from her and standing from the couch. She moved left, then sharply turned and moved right, then moved quickly left again as though she was trapped in a corner she didn't know how to get out of. Ultimately she decided on left and practically leapt into the open space by the window while wiping her fingertips over her brow. "I—I need a minute."

He took two steps towards her "Are you-"

"I said I need a minute!"

"Okay, okay." He held his hands up defensively when she snapped at him. Clearly, something was not right, though he could not entirely put his finger on what. As she continued to pace and look ill, he thought about the still unopened water bottle he'd brought her earlier and quickly retrieved it from the table by the sofa. "Here, take some water—ah shit!" he cursed when his hands lacked the strength to overcome the resistance of the cap seal on the new bottle—at least, not without his special gripping tool, which was in the kitchen.

"It's fine." She brushed her hands dismissively in his direction. "I'm fine I just…I just need to…I just…"

He could see her bottom lip quivering and her whole body begin to tremble; she was afraid—terrified—and he couldn't just stand there and watch her suffer. Stepping up to her, he reached out his hands to tentatively brush her arm with his fingertips. "Kate—hey, Kate it's fine. It's okay. Look at me. If something in this chapter triggered you-"

She stepped back with a gasp. "Wh-why would you say that?"

"Because you have the same look I get every time I think about getting behind the wheel of a car again. You know, once I can grip the steering wheel." Though he tried to brush it off as a joke, the terror inside him was still very real. The mere thought of having to make the drive out to the Hamptons would have a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead and his stomach churning in his gut. Since the accident he'd had several panic attacks and awoken from many nightmares that involved him driving a vehicle again so he definitely understood the concept of being triggered by a thought or memory.

"I…no, it's fine." She shook her head and began backing her way towards the office exit. "I'll be fine just, just give me a minute."

Castle watched her scurry off towards the bathroom and rounded his shoulders as he exhaled a long breath; he felt awful. Guilt clawed at his heart at the thought that something he'd written—something he'd created with the hopes of entertaining her—had done the complete opposite. That had never been his intention. He never wanted to cause pain or discomfort to any of his readers and certainly not someone who had helped him as much as Kate had.

Unable to suppress his curiosity, he sat down on the sofa and pulled the laptop onto his thighs. Though it was impossible to tell what exact sentence triggered her, he wanted to at least know the scene she was at. Gazing at the document, he realized she was reading the part of the chapter when Storm finds his informant friend dead in an alley by the dumpster. He had been quite pleased with the details he used in describing the scene, but it was hardly outstandingly gory in compared to the rest of his works—particularly not to someone with a history in law enforcement and thus crime scenes. Perhaps that was it; perhaps the scene reminded Kate of an old case she had worked on that had upset her or affected in her a way he could never have known about.

Five minutes after she disappeared, Kate returned with a determined expression. Acting as though nothing at all had happened, she said, "I'm sorry—I'll be okay now," and sat down beside him, reaching out for the laptop.

He twisted so that the computer was further out of her reach. "Are you sure? Don't feel like you have to force yourself through something upsetting on my account; we can work around it." The last thing he wanted was for her to be uncomfortable.

"It's fine. I was just…not expecting…It's fine."

"You keep saying that," he pointed out as her repetition made it more difficult for him to believe her. When he noticed her pressing her lips together tighter than seemed necessary, his heart ached for her. Reaching out he gently lay his hand atop her forearm and spoke her name gently. "Kate. You can tell me."

She shook her head and turned away as tears spilled down her cheeks. He moved the laptop to the cushion beside him and quickly stood and reached out for the tissue box that sat at the edge of his desk. He nudged it into her lap and then sat beside her, waiting for her story.

"The…the way you describe the body…in the alley next to the dumpster, all the blood…it's how my mother died."

Castle immediately felt all the oxygen evaporate from his lungs. God! He never—shit! How horrendous for her! "Jesus…she was shot?"

"No, s-stabbed." She explained, her voice hitching on the word as more tears fell.

Castle shut his eyes and shook his head, cursing himself. Of course he had no way of knowing and thus her painful recollection of the event could not be considered his fault, but his guilt remained. Again, he placed his hand on her arm. "Oh Kate; I'm so sorry."

"It's…it's why I'm here, why I'm doing this. She…she was a lawyer and I was going to be one too, but after her killer wasn't found I went to the academy instead. I thought….I thought I could figure it out; I thought I could solve it."

"Did you?"

"No," she whimpered out the word as though she was confessing the worst thing she had ever done in her entire life. "Not even close. It's just dead ends after dead ends…I nearly destroyed my life going after her case."

It hit him then and there; her story—this was her story. The case that destroyed her life—her career—was her mother's. "It's why you were suspended," he concluded aloud. Selfishly he'd hoped her story for being there with him and not on a beat somewhere would be an intriguing one, because that's what he wanted as a writer—an intriguing story. In his selfish mind he never considered it would be a tragic one as well. At least, not something as personally tragic as having a parent who was murdered. His guilt growing exponentially, Castle gave her forearm a little squeeze.

"No, yes… I went down a deep, dark rabbit hole but I managed to pull myself out, make detective… a few weeks later my CO found out I'd been investigating back when I was just a beat cop. That's why I got suspended. My clean record gone in an instant and I've got nothing to show for it." She shook her head bitterly and then half-gasped as though she remembered something critical she should have been doing in that moment. She slid away from him and gathered up two tissues with which to mop the tears on her face. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't be dumping this on you."

He gazed at her very seriously as her concern was unfounded. "Kate, please. I've bent your ear enough over the past few weeks." It was true—he'd told her about his accident, his time in rehab, and his struggles in therapy all during their downtime (well, his procrastinating time) in their prior eight weeks together. To listen to her story would simply be repaying the favor; he didn't mind one bit.

She blew out her nose into one of the tissues and added it to the crumpled pile in her lap. "It's just…really hard, you know? When I go back I'll be investigating murders, but what if I'm no good at it? What if I fail just like I failed to-"

"Hey, stop." His right hand landed on her shoulder and he held it firm until she ventured a tentative glance in his direction. "There's no failing. You tried—very hard, I imagine. Yes, you didn't have the desired result, but you don't have to be in law enforcement to know not all cases are solvable. I've done enough research over the years to know that. It's terrible—you think no one is perfect. The killer must have slipped up somewhere, left evidence here or there, but sometimes there just aren't any answers."

As both a writer who craved a satisfying ending and a member of society he hated that. He wanted to believe that all wrong-doers would be brought to justice but it wasn't always possible. That, like many other things, was simply a part of life that wasn't fair. Yes, more often than not the endless open questions were hard to live with, but you had to learn to live with them because you had no other choice.

"Yeah…maybe…"

As her voice drifted off Castle felt the urge to comfort her further so he moved his hand to her shoulder to the center of her back and began to rub small circles. "Listen, if this part is too hard for you to edit then-"

"No, no I'll be fine. I just…maybe I'll go for a little walk outside, clear my head…"

"Would you like company?" he offered. "I promise I won't say anything."

Despite the fact that her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks tracked with tears, she gave him a rather playful look. "Are you sure you can make that promise, Castle?"

A breathy chuckle escaped his lips. As his depression faded away, his chatty tendencies had certainly returned, which meant Kate and Juanita had borne the brunt of them over the prior few weeks. "I'll try really, really hard; I promise."

She gave a simple nod in his direction. "Okay."

* * *

"Thanks again for earlier, ah…I really needed it." Kate confessed as she was cleaning up her things in preparation to leave much later that day.

Castle hovered a few feet away, his hands casually hanging down into the pockets of his track pants. "It was no problem at all. Actually, it was fun."

"It was." She agreed with a smile. Truly, she had actually had a nice day with him, which given how it started had seemed nearly impossible.

As he promised, Castle remained entirely silent for the first ten minutes of their walk. By that time they had arrived at a park so Kate suggested they take a seat. For almost another ten minutes they remained silent, watching the hustle and bustle of the city streets from beneath a canopy of trees, until Kate requested that Castle tell her a story—any story, just something about himself. He appeared pensive for a moment, but then began with, "I've never met my father," and told her all about growing up with a single mother, never having a strong male figure in his life and how he believed that had affected the man he became.

Kate had never anticipated such a story from him, but was glad to hear it; it certainly gave her a better picture of the man he was and that man was rather wonderful, particularly with how kind and patient he was being with her. She could tell he was doing his best to keep his story light and funny, serious as it was, and she appreciated that more than she was able to express, so instead she showed him her gratitude by throwing out a few stories of her own about her mother and her childhood growing up.

Only as they were walking back to his apartment an hour later did Kate realize just how open she'd been with the writer. She told him about her mother's case and the real reason for her suspension. Other than her father, only her closest friend knew that truth, and here she was blabbing it to Richard Castle, a famous author she'd known for barely more than two months. Though she tried for two full blocks to come up with a concrete reason why she had done so, she could not. The truth of it was: she just felt a connection to him. Yes, they'd had a rocky start, but now things between them felt easy. She spent the majority of her week with just the two of them in his office working side by side and they rarely had an awkward moment. They just seemed to…fit. For once, Kate tried not to let that connection unnerve her, and she simply felt grateful that she'd found someone she believed she could maintain a friendship with even after the end of her twelve week employ.

"I, ah, I'll try very hard not to freak out tomorrow when we finish the chapter," Kate told him as she pulled the straps of her bag up and over her shoulder. After they'd return to his apartment and eaten lunch, Kate returned to the chapter that had set her on edge and began to go through it, marking up punctuation and other issues. Somehow, it all felt a little bit less anxiety-inducing with Castle calmly sitting on the sofa beside her, not saying anything, but just being there for her.

He shook his head casually. "Don't worry about it. Hug for the road?"

She was slightly surprised when he opened his arms to offer an embrace, but didn't see a reason for turning him down, so she stepped forward and slipped her arms around his chest while his encircled her shoulders. She held herself there for a moment, relaxing into the comforting warmth of his body, and then released him, gave him a small smile and said, "Thanks, Castle, I…thanks."

He winked at her. "Any time, and I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah…" her voice drifted off as she exhaled. "Tomorrow."

* * *

 **A/N** : Thank you all for your reviews! As a reminder: there are 12 chapters total + epilogue

also because it was asked, but I was never clear about it - in my mind, the truck driver that hit Castle had some sort of heart attack/stroke that caused him to die at the wheel so he wasn't really at fault; it truly was an accident


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"That's it, Rick. Just two more and you'll be done—two more."

Castle grunted in acknowledgement of his trainer's encouragement. He knew Peter meant well, but as his hand was trembling and the sweat was coating his brow, Castle didn't much care about positivity. As instructed, he pinched the flexible rubber ball tightly between his left index finger and thumb once more, released, and then pinched it again before dropping the ball with a groan.

"Great! Great job Rick; really excellent!" Peter reached down, picked up the ball from the ground, and clapped the writer on the shoulder. "Really, really good work today; you should be proud of yourself."

Still half out of breath, Castle merely hummed in response before grasping for his water bottle and finishing it in three big gulps.

"I'm serious; the progress you made is impressive. Now let me work some of these kinks out." Peter sat down on the chair beside him, pulled Castle's left arm towards him, and began kneading the palm of his hand and his forearm.

Castle winced when Peter hit a particularly tight spot. "You mean—ah!—now that I'm finally trying."

Peter chuckled. "I didn't say that."

"But you thought it." The writer finished for him, but that was the truth, so he didn't mind admitting it.

Changing the subject Peter asked, "How's your shoulder doing, by the way? You haven't mentioned it much these last few weeks."

Castle gazed down towards the joint in question and nodded. "Pretty good for the most part. I still have some pain now and then, but I did wake up on my left side the other day and I wasn't screaming out in pain so—progress." He finished with a chuckle.

Peter nodded. "Good, good. Glad to hear it."

Castle watched his therapist continue to massage and stretch his hand, wincing once again when he reached the ring and pinky fingers, far and above the two digits in the worst state despite his dedication to the therapy. "Let me ask you something, Peter—what are the odds of those two coming around and being, you know, functional?"

"You have more functionality than you had before."

"I had zero functionality before," Castle pointed out. Ever since his accident, his two most-damaged fingers had merely existed at the end of his body, not really serving much purpose. For a while, due to the tingling that almost always existed in them, he feared full paralysis, but within four months of his original surgery the tingling went away and he was able to move them slightly, but only just. Now that he'd been diligently doing his therapy, Castle was able to make a fist, fully extend his hand, and even move the pinky and ring finger independently, thought it was very difficult and required much concentration. As such, the thing he desired most—the ability to type on a keyboard with all ten fingers—continued to elude him.

"You're doing well, Rick and with time-"

"Peter." Castle interrupted, too tired to hear another pep-talk. "Just be straight with me: do you think I'll ever be able to move those fingers well enough to type with them?"

Peter sighed and shook his head. "There's no way to tell that. You might be able to with time."

"But I might not be." Castle concluded.

"Rick," Peter began very seriously, "I don't want this to discourage you. You had a very traumatic accident and sometimes-"

"No, I know—sometimes things just can't be one hundred percent again, but that doesn't discount the progress I've made. I know—and thank you." He added with a slight smile.

Peter patted his arm. "I'll see you in a few days, okay?"

"Yeah." Castle sighed out as he watched the therapist pack up. He wasn't going to get frustrated and give up on therapy just because two of his ten fingers might never work properly again. He'd come far enough to know that was foolish. Yet, he could not help but be disappointed at the notion that his fingers would never again fly across a keyboard, crafting individual letters into a tale that entertained millions. He could still write, it would just be slower, less physically satisfying, but hoped that in time he'd be all right with that. After all, he didn't really have much of a choice.

* * *

"No, actually, you know what? No…I think…I think—hold on, let me think."

Kate gazed up at the writer as he paced the tight space between his desk and the sofa while she sat poised with a straight back, her fingers hovering above the keyboard. She watched as he pinched the bridge of his nose and moved his left hand in a small circular pattern. Clearly, he was formulating something in his mind before speaking it aloud, which meant all she could do was wait.

Normally, Kate didn't mind Castle's tangents that often involved rewriting dialog or even entire sections of the book. Most times she even found it entertaining the way he would mutter to himself or gesture wildly as he thought. In that moment, however, she could focus only on the hollow void that was her stomach as it rolled and gurgled in her gut. She knew that small salad at lunch was a mistake—but she hadn't been hungry then!

"Ok, I think I got it. I think I want to go back and-"

Castle's words were abruptly interrupted by a loud rumbling noise emanating from behind Kate's belly button. She gasped out, embarrassed, and tucked her left arm tightly around her waist as though that would muffle any future sounds. "Ah, sorry; that was just my stomach—keep going."

He gazed down at her, amused. "Hungry? Oh—shit! I'm sorry! I didn't realize how late it was getting." He proclaimed after glancing down at his watch. Shaking his head, he gestured towards the exit. "You should just go."

"Oh, no—no it's fine." She promised him despite her stomach's argument to the contrary. Yes, it was nearly six p.m., which was technically after her leaving time, but she didn't mind putting in a few extra hours; she'd just wished she'd had an afternoon snack. "It feels like you're really onto something here so I don't mind; maybe I can just grab a piece of fruit or something?"

He waved his hand flippantly at her. "Forget that—we'll just order dinner. Chinese okay?"

She bobbed her head. "Yeah it's fine; I'll eat anything."

He quickly called in their order, saying he'd pay the delivery man double if he could have the order there as fast as possible. Then, he hung up the phone and said, "Okay, as I was saying—I think I want to go back to that scene before—where they're on the roof…"

* * *

"…and done. Good; really good!" Kate smiled across the desk at her companion while she saved the story file and dropped her hands down to her lap. "I really, really like the new direction you're going with this."

"You mean because before it was total crap?"

"I never said that!" she insisted quickly. "I just like this better." She didn't think anything he wrote was crap—well, maybe except for that bit with the aliens from back when she first started, but he'd admitted that was mostly done to mess with her. Yet, as the story progressed, she believed it was quickly becoming Derrick Storm's most interesting tale yet and just to be a part of that excited her.

He hummed. "Well thanks for staying late—I really appreciate it. And you can come in late tomorrow if you want."

She shrugged and shook her head. "I don't mind; it was fun. Let me help clean this stuff up." She was about to reach out for the two takeout containers resting at the edge of the desk when he stopped her.

"No; it's fine. Just leave it for Juanita."

She gave him an expression of disbelief. "Castle, I'm not letting half empty Chinese food containers sit in your office all night; that's gross. It'll take two minutes."

She collected as many of their containers as she could carry and carried them into the kitchen. Castle trailed after her a few moments later holding the last of the containers and looking as though he still didn't understand why she was bothering to clean up. She rolled her eyes at him and took both cartons, throwing one of them into the trash and putting the second into the refrigerator for the following day.

Though she didn't like to make working through dinner a habit (though while on the force it seemed to happen more often than she wanted, so she figured she would need to accept that sooner than later) Kate didn't mind eating while working with Castle. They took a break every few paragraphs to swap egg rolls and stories about their favorite Asian restaurants in the city. Kate enjoyed eating with him that night just as much as she had a few days prior when she'd dined with the entire Castle clan.

Ever since she inadvertently ran into them, Kate had heard endless stories about both Castle's mother, Martha, and his daughter, Alexis. From what she could tell the writer dined with the red-headed women regularly and the tales of their interactions both past and present were hilarious. When she'd casually said, "I'd like to see that sometime," in reference to their antics Castle had become unexpectedly excited and immediately arranged a dinner date for the four of them. Kate had been stunned for sure, but not unwilling, and in the end had a wonderful evening that involved laughing until her stomach muscles hurt.

"You know I just realized something."

Kate finished dumping their containers into the trash and gazed back towards the writer. "What's that?"

"I don't think I ever asked you—how many of my books have you read before? I know you referenced something from _Storm Approaching_ but I…I kind of get the feeling you've read more."

Kate could not stop the rose hue from creeping into her cheeks even if she'd wanted to. "Oh, um, yeah; I have."

"You're blushing."

"Thanks." She groaned both at his pointing out her embarrassment and the large grin he wore while doing it.

"Tell me—please."

"I…there's nothing to tell, really." Hadn't she embarrassed herself enough just by the fact that she was blushing in front of him?

"Kate. Please."

As she had been looking down, Kate did not realize Castle stepped up beside her and his hand landed on her shoulder. She let out a little gasp, surprised at his touch, but did not stop back or lean away. Instead, she gazed up into his kind blue-eyed gaze and felt her skin flush again. As if his contact was working as a sort of truth serum, she said, "I, ah, I started reading them after my mother passed. I…I needed closure—a finished story—and they really helped. I've read all of them and, um, I even had one of them signed by you."

"When?"

"About three years ago."

He nodded and gazed away for a moment before turning back and sliding his hand down her arm so he could cup her elbow. "I'm glad that they helped you; that's always nice to hear."

"S-sure." Her voice faltered when his hand slipped down even further, that time closing around her wrist. She could feel the pads of his fingers against her pulse point and felt her body flushing for an entirely different reason.

Was she… _attracted_ to Richard Castle?

He was kind and sweet and he did make her laugh, but was she really attracted to him? Did she have feelings beyond their work relationship? Beyond friendship?

In that moment, she could not say with any certainty, but she could feel herself drawing closer to him, particularly due to the strange and inexplicable connection they seemed to have without having known each other very long. If she did, in fact, have feelings of attraction for him, the next question that popped into her mind became: was that really what she wanted?

Over the prior year, between falling down into and subsequently extracting herself from the rabbit hole of her mother's case, studying for and passing the detective's exam, and keeping up with her regular work schedule, Kate's dating life had been…well, virtually non-existent. She didn't mind, exactly. She was still in her mid-twenties, focusing on her career, but at the same time she wasn't opposed to dating on principal, she simply had high standards. She wanted someone she felt comfortable around, someone she could trust, someone with whom she could share pieces of her life without feeling judged. Castle certainly checked those boxes but yet she remained, in a round-about sort of way, his employee meaning she would not want anything to happen with him until after her twelve week commitment. Assuming that they—

No.

She stopped herself before her thoughts could continue any further. Castle had been through a lot over the prior year and what was to say he was ready to date? Even if he was, that did not mean he was interested I her. Maybe he was just a really, really nice guy. She didn't need to get herself invested in something that might not pan out; she needed to keep herself at arm's length until she could better understand what his thoughts were on the matter.

Despite the fact that he still stared at her intently, she turned away and stepped back enough to break the connection of his hand against her wrist. "I, um, I should go—it's late."

When she ventured a gaze back at him he looked momentarily confused before shaking his head and saying, "Oh right of course. I'll see you tomorrow."

She nodded and offered a smile as she made her way towards the door. "Goodnight, Castle." Then, shaking her head, she hurried out the door. Feelings for Richard Castle? She must have lost her mind! Famous writers did not date cops; it just didn't happen.

* * *

 **A/N:** Good news bad news about the next update

Good new: I'll be updating in 2 days - Thursday of this week

Bad news: I won't update again until Tuesday of next week-no weekend update this week, but you still get the same amount of chapters :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"Here—the Hamptons house, as promised."

Kate gazed up when the writer returned to his office and handed over a small photo album filled with 4x6 pictures. She reached out greedily for it and immediately pushed the laptop to the couch cushion beside her so she could focus fully on the photos. When she opened the black faux-leather cover she gasped immediately at the expansive home with cobblestone driveway an enticing front porch and too many windows to count. "Oh, Castle, it's gorgeous—and massive!"

He shrugged and brushed off her comment. "Nah; it's just a bungalow."

She gazed at him incredulously. "Yeah right." Then, she turned back to the album and continued leafing.

The subject of his house had come up only a few minutes earlier when they'd been discussing what to order for lunch and Castle had commented about his favorite sandwich place in Southampton. Of course Kate knew he owned a home in the elite destination due to its connection to his accident, but he didn't talk much about it so she remained tentative when asking where exactly the home was located. The writer seemed forthcoming, though, and even offered up the picture book so she could, quote, "get a better visual."

"How long have you owned it for?"

"Oh um…about two and a half years—not terribly long."

Kate hummed as she continued to leaf through pictures that showed the back of the house, a few interior rooms, and plenty of gorgeous shots of the beachy back yard; it seemed heavenly. "Have you been out there recently?" she asked conversationally, not really thinking about the context of her question.

"Ah, no. I haven't been out there since the accident."

Hearing the hesitation in his tone, Kate shut her eyes and cursed under her breath. Of course he had trauma related to the crash that had broken over a dozen bones in his body; what a foolish question. She quickly apologized, but he shook his head and said, "Don't worry about it. My mother and Alexis go out there, though. Mostly when Alexis has a long weekend off from school. They always ask me to join them but I…"

"You're not ready yet; I understand."

She watched as he pushed himself up from his desk chair, skimmed his fingers over his lips and then walked towards the large windows lining one wall of the office so he could gaze out across the city—or, at least, the parts of the city he could see from his fifth-floor penthouse. After he'd come out of his shell, Kate knew the moments when the writer were silent were ones to be treasured and patiently waited through for when he spoke again, his words would be weighted down with importance. She didn't mind waiting and wouldn't push as that's what friendships were all about.

Two weeks earlier, when Kate and Castle ended up having an impromptu dinner together, she'd made herself unnecessarily nervous about how close she was becoming with the man previously known to her as her favorite author. For several days she'd kept himself at arm's length from him, trying to act only in a professional manner in hopes of keeping herself from developing further feelings for him which would ultimately lead to heartbreak. Then, just as she was feeling comfortable with her resolve, he'd suggested going on a walk to inspire an idea on how he could finish Chapter Eighteen. She agreed, mostly out of a feeling of obligation, and on their way back to his place he'd surprised her by handing her a rose. She had barely recovered from shock enough to accept the flower, having absolutely no idea how or where he'd procured it from. Castle said nothing about it, either; he just handed it to her and continued walking back towards Broome Street.

Kate was not entirely sure how to interpret his gesture until they arrived at his building and needed to open the door themselves since the doorman was busy loading luggage into a cab on the street. Castle had gripped the handle with his right hand, pulled the door open and winked at her as she brushed past him to get inside. She felt a shiver travel down her spine at his gaze and with the red flower in her hand she considered for the first time that he might actually have feelings for her, too, which seemed rather miraculous.

Over the next week, Kate looked for more signs of his interest and found them practically everywhere, from the way she'd catch him gazing at her while her fingers tapped against his laptop's keyboard, to the speed at which he offered to get her drinks or snacks when she expressed even the slightest interest. Beyond that, she enjoyed being with him and found herself actually being disappointed when she awoke on Saturday or Sunday mornings for she would not see him at all and he wouldn't have the opportunity to make her smile or laugh so hard tears formed in her eyes; those were the moments she appreciated the most.

After nearly three minutes of silence, Castle rotated his body so it was angled halfway towards her, but he could still see out the window, and said, "I, ah, it's so stupid…" He shook his head and turned back towards the window.

Kate stood slowly and approached him saying, "If there's one thing I've learned about traumatic events, both from my own experience and what I see at work, it's that all feelings and all reactions are valid."

He offered a small smile. "It's not the house, really, but the journey. I could hire a driver to take us there, of course—Mother was never much of a driver—but I've never been out there without driving myself. It was always our family thing…"

"You haven't driven since…?"

He huffed out a breath and held up his left hand with the two fingers that still curled down towards his palm. "How?"

"I think you could safely hold the wheel of a car now." Kate countered. She'd been watching his steady progress and while his right hand would have been ready probably within one month of meeting him, the dexterity in his left thumb, index, and middle fingers had really come around in the past few weeks. She had no problem as someone who enforced the law declaring him fit to drive. As he merely hummed in response, she wasn't sure he believed her, so she suggested, "We could rent one, you know. I could take you out if you just wanted to…see."

He twisted his neck to gaze at her over his shoulder. "Rent one?"

"I assume you didn't replace the one that was destroyed if you weren't driving."

"Oh." A light chuckle escaped his lips. "I have a second car; it's a Ferrari."

"Ferrari?" she echoed, surprised at first, but then given what she'd heard of him over the years with his flashy playboy tendencies, the sports car really wasn't that much of a shock.

"Yeah…it's actually not as cool as I thought it would be when I bought it."

She laughed. "You don't say? Well, I'll take you out in that if you want; I can drive manual."

He turned and tilted his head as he gazed at her, questioningly. "You just want to drive my Ferrari."

She laughed again. "Maybe. No, it's fine—I'm just offering if you want. I'll even take you out to the big shopping mall parking lot in Jersey where my dad showed me how to drive the first time."

He gave her a pointed look. "I do remember how to operate a vehicle. Its…it's the traffic…"

As his eyes clouded with uncertainty, Kate shook her head and waved her hand in a dismissive fashion. "Then just forget I brought it up."

He sighed and walked back towards his desk where his wallet rested on the edge. "No c'mon we'll go. You can drive the Ferrari."

Suddenly feeling embarrassed for making the suggestion, Kate shook her head. The last thing she wanted was for him to put himself in an uncomfortable position just because she was curious about what driving a hundred thousand dollar sports car felt like. "Castle, really-"

"It's fine." He promised her, sounding reasonably confident. "C'mon let's get it from the garage."

* * *

"Okay, here we are," Kate said as she pulled into an empty parking lot section of the north Jersey shopping mall where she'd first sat behind the wheel of a car. She picked a random spot for the Ferrari, put it in park, and turned off the engine, glad for once not to hear the steady thrum; it certainly was the most powerful car she'd maneuvered, though she had to keep it in check since their trip had involved bumper-to-bumper traffic through a tunnel, among other crowded spots.

Glancing to her right she saw the writer with his hands resting atop his knees gazing around the area with uncertainty and her heart sunk a bit in her chest. She had assured him through the duration of their trip that he was in no way obligated to drive at all. Even if he did choose to take the wheel, he could take one lap around the parking lot and be done and she wouldn't mind one bit. She didn't want him to be afraid, but understood the fear and anxiety that loomed over him. "Castle?"

"Huh? Oh yeah I'm ready." He popped the release button on his seatbelt but she stopped him as he reached for the door handle.

"You don't have to, you know."

Staring directly at her he said, "Yes I do."

Though she still wasn't certain how he'd do, Kate got out of the car and swapped seats with him, pressing the keys into his palm as they passed. Once they were both back in the car, Kate buckled her seatbelt slowly while watching Castle to the same and then rest his hands on top of the wheel for several moments, staring off towards the intersection that led into the shopping mall. She said nothing as she waited, merely folded her hands into her lap and waited for him to be ready.

When Castle finally turned over the engine and put the car in gear, he eased the car out of its space and drove towards the exit of the parking row. As he turned onto the street circling the mall, he gave the car a bit too much gas and it bucked as he rounded the corner. Muttering out an apology, he shifted gears and they moved smoothly towards the intersection.

"If you turn right there are some neighborhoods in a few blocks; they might be easier to drive through."

He grunted in response to her soft suggestion for at that moment he was pulling into the busy multi-lane intersection. She watched his fingers curl more tightly around the wheel of the car until the knuckles were almost white. When the light turned green, he turned onto the main road and had to peel his right hand off the leather surface to be able to shift into second gear. She could see the flickering of tendons in his jaw as he clenched his teeth together when one car cut sharply in front of them.

After just three or four minutes of the road Castle was able to make a right turn onto a residential street. It ended up being just a small U-shaped neighborhood because soon enough they were facing back towards the main drag. Once again he made a right turn, drove for a minute, and turned onto another street. That one was blocked by a large moving van, so they were forced to turn around using a stranger's driveway, but instead of proceeding out onto the main road again, Castle pulled the car over and stopped in front of a random house. He didn't even put the car in gear; he just sat there with his foot on the break and both hands strangling the wheel.

Kate stayed silent for over a full minute before she said in a tone just above a whisper, "If you want me to switch with you just say."

Her words evidently served as the breaking of the dam for the moment they left her lips Castle hung his head and began to sob. His foot evidently relaxing on the break, the car drifted forward for a second until he stomped on it again and Kate helped him out by reaching over and putting the vehicle in park. "I'm sorry." He sniffled out to her.

"No, no—don't be sorry; it's fine." She promised, reaching over to rest her hand lightly on his right arm.

"I never wanted to be this person, I never thought I could be I just… you don't know how much I revisit that day in my mind, how much I try to relive the moment. The memories aren't there but I just keep thinking if I'd seen the truck if I'd heard something-"

"Castle, no. There's no way you could have done anything to avoid that accident." Her hand grazed up his arm until she could squeeze his shoulder as she spoke to him. She understood that it was hard, and imagined she would have faced similar struggles were she in his position, but the accident was simply that: an accident.

"But my daughter was in the car! My child!" He slammed his right palm down against the steering wheel as a few more tears skidded down his cheeks. "I'm supposed to protect her. How do I know that next time…next time…?"

"Castle…"

He shook his head and rubbed his index finger beneath his nose, brushing away a few droplets from the end. "It's one of the reasons I left her with Mother so long. I just…I see her and I get anxious. What if I can't protect her?"

The broken sounding tone of his voice had her eyes burning with tears as her heart felt like it was being wrung by two hands. She leaned in closer to him so her hand could skim over to the back of his neck and she could rub it gently. "Oh, Castle, no. I know I haven't known you that long, but from what I've seen of Alexis I know you're a wonderful father. And, unfortunately, that's one of the realities of parenthood—you can't always protect your children. Little girls grow up and become adults. You can't shield her from the world forever even though I'm sure you wish you could."

"I've been thinking about investing in bubble wrap-lined clothing for her."

A laugh escaped Kate's lips. "I'm sure it would be adorable but she'd probably be very hot."

"Probably." He sniffed back a few more tears before rubbing his face with both hands and turning his head in her direction for the first time. "I'm sorry – I didn't think this trip would be so emotional."

She offered him a smile, gave his shoulder one last squeeze, and then leaned back towards her side of the vehicle. "Don't worry about it. It sounds like something that needed to come out. Want me to drive?"

He shook his head as he reached down to put the car into gear once more. "No. Maybe…maybe just a few more blocks…."

* * *

"Thank you," Castle said as he pocketed his keys and pressed the call button on the elevator. Gazing over at his companion he smiled. "For everything today; I really appreciate it." Though he meant them with utmost sincerity, somehow the words did not seem to convey the level of gratitude he felt for her. Without Kate's push, Castle had no idea how long it would have taken him to get behind the wheel of a car again; it could easily have been many more months. Without the stress of traffic and zooming cars he may never have been pushed to say aloud the things buried deep inside: his fears and insecurities. Having her there to console him meant the world to him and though it was the best he could do, saying thank you did not seem to be enough.

"Of course, Castle; anytime."

The elevator car arrived and they stepped inside as he said. "And thanks for, ah, tolerating my tears."

"Tolerating?" She echoed with an air of disbelief. Shaking her head, she reached out her arms to him and said, "C'mere," as she pulled him into a hug. He slid his arms willingly around her waist, pulling her close and inhaling the remaining scent of her shampoo when her hair partially covered his nostrils; she smelled like cherries.

Cradling Kate's body against his for the duration of their ascent to the penthouse, Castle realized just how much he appreciated her, just how much he enjoyed her company. She was…the best part of his day. Suddenly, setting to work on his next chapter for their remaining few hours together didn't seem like quite enough. He wanted more. He wanted… _this._

When the car docked on the penthouse floor, Kate slid away from his embrace, smiled at him, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she stepped into the hallway. Not wanting to waste the moment, Castle scurried after her asking, "You, ah, you wanna do something else with me?"

"Like what?"

"Ah, I don't know. Something not work related."

"Like…dinner?"

He shook his head. Of course he wanted her to stay for dinner, and hoped she would at some point that week, but that wasn't exactly what he had in mind. Dinner was nice, but it was so simple. He could have dinner with a friend or a colleague. With Kate Beckett he wanted something extraordinary, something meaningful, something he just couldn't—

Ah! The idea hit him just as he unlocked the apartment door and stepped over the threshold. "No, I—oh! Hang on just a second!" He scurried towards the office, praying he'd remembered the date correctly, and snatched the invitation Gina had been pushing on him out from underneath some other documents on the desk. Bingo!

"Ah, yeah, actually yeah—I want to take you to dinner. Friday night—you busy?"

She grinned at him. "No."

"Perfect! I'll pick you up at seven—oh and the dress is black tie, will that be a problem?"

He watched her jaw fall an inch. "B-black tie!? Where are you taking me?!"

He held the invitation out for her so she could see. "A gala Black Pawn is sponsoring."

"A gala."

His brow wrinkled when the flat tone she used to echo him. He studied her face as she read the invitation and his heartrate sped at the fear of her rescinding her acceptance of his offer. "Is that a problem?"

"I…" She lifted her head and gazed at him a bit dumbly as she continued, "'ve never been to a gala."

Castle stepped forward, reached out and encircled her left wrist with the thumb and index finger of his right hand. "I'd like you to come with me. I told Gina I wasn't going but…could be fun with you." He quirked his lips upwards in an attempt at enticing her not to back out.

She offered a shy little smile. "Ah…yeah ok I guess I can find…something appropriate…ish…"

Castle's brow lurched upwards. Oh—oh! If that was her only concern than he could easily take care of that. "It is really short notice—which is completely my fault, so, here." He reached into his pocket and flipped open his wallet with little thought. Only when he began to tug at the card in the foremost slot only to have it not budge at all did he recall that he still had occasional issues with dexterity. "Ah, damn it."

"What is it?"

"Can't get this damn thing out."

"Here. Which one?" She reached out for the wallet and he passed it to her.

"The black one."

"Don't feel bad—these can be hard for everyone." She slid the card from its resting spot and held out both card and wallet to him; he only accepted the latter.

"No, keep it; your dress is on me."

She gasped as though the card had suddenly been lit aflame. "Castle I can't take your credit card."

"Sure you can; Mother does all the time."

"But she's your mother."

"And you're my date." He explained simply. She trapped her bottom lip between her teeth and he smiled. "Please; I insist. Just make sure you look really, really hot."

This comment succeeding in drawing a laugh from her lips before she playfully punched him in the arm. "Thanks, Castle."

He bobbed his head. "Of course; I already can't wait."

* * *

 **A/N** : Reminder: next update will be on Tuesday


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"Have I mentioned that you look incredible?"

Kate only needed to turn her head slightly to the right to catch the eye of the man whose arms were wrapped around her. She gave a small, slightly embarrassed smile and admitted, "Um, about four times, actually." Not that she was counting or anything.

"Just making sure."

His voice husked into her ear as the pads of his fingers skimmed their way across her back, landing on her bare flesh in the areas where the lace-up corset of her red dress did not quite come together. A shiver traveled down Kate's spine and she couldn't decide which of his actions were responsible: his breath against her ear or his warm fingers against her skin; it was a tossup.

At the time she handed over Castle's AMEX to the sales clerk Kate could not believe how much she was spending on a dress for one night. Particularly since the money wasn't hers it still didn't seem right, but then she'd tried it on again when she got home and saw the shimmery crimson fabric and how it hugged her body in all the right places. It was sexy and not at all her usual style, but in a way that made her more anxious for the evening to arrive, not nervous about it. In the end, it had been worth it just to see his jaw crash open. She had been half expecting to hear an old-timey cash register like sound as if he was a character in one of those old-fashioned hand-drawn cartoon shows she used to watch as a child. The moment had been very amusing for her and evidently memorable for him as he'd been complimenting her ever since.

Earlier that day, Kate could hardly focus on the chapter she and Castle were trying to craft due to the nervous excitement she felt over their date that evening. Though her level of uncertainty was small, it mostly stemmed from the fact that not only was she going on a date with Richard Castle, but he seemed quite adamant about repeating again and again that they were going on a date—a real date. Since they technically still had a quasi-employer-employee relationship, Kate was anxious about how their date would affect their working relationship, but that wasn't the only reason.

By that point, eleven weeks into their partnership, Kate had feelings for Castle—real, true feelings like she hadn't had for another man in quite some time. He made her laugh and smile more than she had in years. Spending days with Castle reminded her that she did not have to continue cowering beneath that black cloud hanging above her—the one that had formed both from the internal turmoil due to her mother's case and the macabre nature of her profession. Castle helped her remember that days could be fun, light, and playful—like when he insisted they play laser tag in the middle of an afternoon. She was no longer concerned about whether or not he reciprocated her feelings; he'd made it abundantly clear that he did, but even that made her nervous, because it made it more plausible their date would not be a one-off, but the beginning of something—dare she think it—magical.

Castle let her go at three that afternoon so she had plenty of time to get ready and did so with a stomach filled with butterflies. She'd dressed and waited patiently for his arrival, during which he presented her with another long-stemmed rose, and then whisked her off to his waiting town car. Once at the gala (an event she found even fancier than she anticipated), they sipped champagne, ate hors d'oeuvres, and finally settled into an exquisite if not far too rich meal. Now that their plates had been cleared, they had been on the dance floor for nearly ten minutes.

It was…nice. Better than nice, actually. Kate could not actually recall the last time she danced properly with a man, but she was glad the man she danced with now was Castle. With her in her gown, him looking dapper as ever in a tux, and the ballroom setting of their evening, she felt as though she were a part of a modern fairytale. In years passed she would have hated the thought of partaking in such a cliché event, but with Castle's arms around her she didn't ever want to leave.

"I'm going to twirl you now, okay?"

She laughed slightly and nodded. "Okay."

"Ready?"

When she nodded, he removed his arm from around her waist and used the hand joined to hers to spin her around once before pulling her body back in close to his. That time, he wound his arm all the way around her back so that their bodies were nearly flush against one another. Not minding this one bit, Kate closed her eyes and leaned the side of her head against his, a soft smile on her face as they swayed back and forth to the music.

When the song ended and Castle stepped back from her, Kate found herself disappointed and the suggestion that they dance to one more song rested on her lips before he interjected, "Ohh! They're passing out dessert! C'mon!" Without waiting for her response, her grabbed her right hand and began hauling her back towards their seats. Laughing, she could not help but follow.

If one thing was indisputably true about the writer it was that he was an enthusiastic date. At first, Kate merely thought he was putting on a bit of a show with his dramatic door openings and with the gentle but purposeful way he led her through a crowd, but as the night went on she no longer thought that was the case. Every time he checked with her to see if she needed a drink or another piece of shrimp seemed natural to him, not forced. He seemed genuinely interested in her having as wonderful an evening as possible even if he had to procure her happiness solely with his own two hands, which was both refreshing and unexpected; it seemed Richard Castle was truly one of a kind.

Once they were seated back at their table and he'd asked if she wanted another glass of champagne (she declined), the waited for only about five minutes before waiters delivered their dessert which appeared to be a deconstructed brownie sundae. The triangularly shaped white plate displayed a one inch square brownie, barely more than a teaspoon of vanilla bean ice cream and one lone red raspberry all separate from one another. The plate had barely been in front of him more than ten seconds before Castle groaned, "This is it!? What a rip-off! Dessert is supposed to be the best part!"

Reaching for the provided spoon, Kate tried to think positively. "Dinner was nice, though." She was actually so full from the surf-and-turf plate that she was thankful for the petite sweets.

He frowned as he chewed on the brownie. "But I'm still hungry. Want my raspberry?"

"You don't like raspberries?"

"I'm angry they're including fruit in the dessert."

Kate laughed and reached out for the berry. "Oh. Thanks. And thanks for inviting me; I'm having a nice time."

He rotated his body so that he faced her and could reach out and rest his right hand on the back of her chair. Smiling he said, "There's no one else I'd rather be my date. Wanna dance again? Or do you want to get out of here?"

Her brow wrinkled at his second suggestion. Turning to her right, Kate tried to crane her neck above the seated gala attendees to see if she could catch a glimpse of the podium at the front of the ballroom. When giving the welcome message, the gala host had mentioned a ceremony that would follow the meal. "Isn't…isn't there some sort of awards presentation?"

"We don't have to stay for that; I'm not getting an award."

"Castle!" Kate half laughed and half scolded him for his comment.

He merely grinned. "C'mon—it'll only get more boring from here."

Kate's amusement vanished as her attitude deflated slightly. They had only been out for a few hours, was he really ready to end their evening? She certainly wasn't tired of his company yet, but also didn't want him to feel obligated to entertain her if he was no longer enjoying himself. "You'd rather go home instead," she said as more of a conclusion than a question, but he jumped in to counter her quickly.

"Oh no," he said, touching his fingertips to her bare shoulder. "I never said we were going home."

Her grin returning, she tiled her head to the side and said, "Then…where are we going?"

"Don't you want to find out? C'mon Kate—let's get out of here." If his words weren't enough to convince her, the glimmer in his blue eyes certainly was. When he held out his hand for hers, Kate didn't hesitate to slip hers inside. Then, she let him link their arms together as they scurried laughing out of the ballroom and out into the city.

* * *

"…oh, god that was hilarious—the look on his face was priceless!"

Castle watched with sheer amusement as his date practically giggled—giggled!—while they entered her apartment. It was nearly one in the morning and she hadn't had more than three glasses of champagne—and that had been hours earlier—so he suspected she'd entered some sort of punchy, everything-is-funny stage of tiredness since, yes, it had been funny when he had offered to buy the ice cream shop just so they could have a few extra minutes to finish their treat, but not _that_ funny. More…unexpected.

So they had showed up at the place ten minutes before closing—technically the shop was still open and they were ordering ice cream, not a deep-dish pizza that needed baked for thirty to forty minutes. The manager-slash-owner evidently did not share the same viewpoint and had been more than a little surly while dishing up their strawberry and cake batter flavored treats.

They kept to themselves at a corner table for the next eight minutes while the owner alternated glaring at them and cleaning up until ultimately asking them to go. That's when Castle stupidly had come up with the buyout plan, which the shorter Asian man had not appreciated at all. He began ranting at them in a language neither understood and, ultimately, threw a container of multi-colored sprinkles in their direction as a display of his frustration. When the candy particles had exploded around them, Castle had grabbed Kate's hand and practically dragged her out into the street where they'd run off laughing.

Though slightly unsettling at the time, the more they walked and talked about it, the funnier the event had become, but in that moment Castle was not imagining flying sugar pieces or the shrieks of an irate shop owner, but instead he focused on her; his date. He tried to memorize that moment as it was one of his favorite in recent memory. Her smile stretched practically ear-to-ear; the way her honey-brown eyes sparkled even in the dim light of her apartment entryway. The way the strands of hair that had fallen out of their perfect twist to beautifully frame her face and, perhaps most notably, the beautiful melodic sound of her laugh. She was intoxicating, mesmerizing; irresistible.

"What?" she asked, sobering him from the way he'd spent nearly a full minute just staring at her.

He recovered quickly, shaking his head and offering instead a small smile. "You have a good laugh."

"Thanks…oh—and thanks for this." She shrugged off his tuxedo jacket and held it out to him. He'd given it to her earlier that night as they were wandering the streets together talking and swapping stories. He probably could have spent the whole night doing just that—talking to her. He thought in that moment that he'd never tire of it.

He took the jacket from her, draped it over his arm and nodded. "Of course, but I should be the one thanking you—for coming. It was a good night."

"It was."

"I needed one of those."

"Yeah, I kind of figured."

He gazed at her, standing there just barely a foot from him, completely unable to move, unable to say goodbye. Their evening had been so good—better than good. It had been revitalizing for him in so many ways; it truly felt like a new beginning, or, at the very least, the first page of a new chapter in his story—a story he dared to believe he might share with her.

Castle watched her standing with her hands clasped together and hanging down by her waist. She rotated her body gently side to side and gazed at him almost expectantly, like she was waiting for him to make the first move. For a moment—for just one more moment—Castle held his breath and simply took her in.

Kate Beckett was extraordinary—unlike any woman he'd ever met before and felt he could ever meet again. Nearly three months after meeting her he felt he'd learned a lot about her, though he was sure there was more to learn, but each thing he did know merely added to how incredible she was: kind, patient, brave. She had taught him how to live again and there was nothing more that he wanted in that moment than to live—really live.

Without second though, he closed the distance between them and slid his left hand beneath her jaw so that he could tilt her head up towards his. She let out a little gasp and lifted her right hand so that it closed over his wrist. He didn't feel as though she was trying to pull away from him, but merely anchor herself to keep from floating away.

His heart hammering against the inside of his rib cage, Castle hummed out her name just to see what it would feel like to say it when he was that close to her, to see how she would react. "Mm…Kate…"

He could feel the shiver travel down her body as he painted his thumb against the pulse point of her neck. Her eyes drifted shut and she leaned into him sighing out his name in a tone just barely above a whisper. "Castle…I…" but she didn't finish her thought; her voice merely faded away.

Leaning down with his eyes open, Castle brushed his lips over hers in what could barely be considered a kiss. He bumped their noses together and watched her eyes flutter. Lifting up his right hand, he skimmed it beneath her jaw as well so he could hold her fast; she mewed and leaned into him. This was it, he was sure of it—the moment they went from coworkers to more. So very, very much more, but he wanted—needed—to be certain that she felt the same.

"Do you want me to go?"

"No."

"Good." With that, he brought her face to his and crushed their lips together once more.

Kate's hands found their way to his waist while he continued to cradle her jaw as they kissed again and again and, god, it was wonderful. Castle thought his heart might explode right out of his chest from the way it was thrumming, but he knew then even if it exploded in that moment he wouldn't care, because he would die a very happy man.

A few minutes later, clearly as breathless as he was, Kate pulled back and gave him one of the sexiest smiles he'd ever seen in his entire life. He fought the urge to groan as she pulled his jacket off his arm, tossed it casually onto a small chair in her entryway, grabbed his hand, and began leading the way across her apartment to what he prayed was her bedroom. She crossed into the dark space while he hung back in the doorway, afraid of tripping over something in unfamiliar territory, and a moment later she illuminated the room that contained a bed, chest of drawers, and a bedside table on which sat a small lamp. With the room bathed in a soft yellow light, she turned around and gazed at him and once again the writer was rendered speechless. She was so gorgeous he didn't think he'd ever wanted anyone more than he wanted her in that moment.

Swiftly crossing into the room, Castle landed his hands at her waist and pulled her in for another kiss. That time, her lips parted and let him inside, his tongue sweeping over hers. She groaned and gripped his sides, pulling his body in close to hers and groaning again presumably when she felt his excitement pressed up against her thigh. "Jesus Kate," he breathed out when her hands skimmed the top edge of his belt. She chuckled and nipped at his bottom lip before shooting him a sly gaze.

Fuck; she was incredible.

With the majority of his blood flowing southward Castle could only focus on one thing in that moment: removing their clothing as efficiently as possible. His hands began skimming around the back of her dress, but he only felt lacing and no egress. Finally, he located the tab of a zipper beneath her right armpit, gripped it, and attempted to pull on it only to have his thumb and index finger slip right off. He tried twice more only to have the same result and then became too distracted with his frustration to continue kissing her. Pulling back, he cursed. "Shit! Shit!"

Her eyes flashed with confusion. "What? What is it?"

He took a step back from her and shook his head, gesturing towards her right side. "Your zipper…I can't…"

"Hey, hey it's okay; it's a tough zipper. I got it."

Despite her soft, reassuring tone, Castle felt his mood darkening as he flopped down on her bed and grunted, "Stupid fucking hand." He had finally—finally!—made it to a place in his life where he was ready to be with a woman again. He thought he'd put his divorce, his insecurities, and his accident behind him. He'd wanted to! But then just when he'd let his guard down he got a screaming reminder that he was not the man he used to be. Yes, he'd come very far, but not being able to undress a beautiful women seemed like a cruel way of the universe reminding him that his hand wasn't fully healed yet and maybe never would be.

"Castle, hey; stop. You've been doing so well. Don't let this frustrate you."

He was vaguely aware of the rustling of fabric and her movement around him while he sat on the side of her bed his eyes trained down on his lap where his betraying left hand rested. It wasn't until she knelt down on the floor in front of him and picked up his left hand in hers that he even considered readjusting his gaze.

"Especially not now that I'm almost naked."

Almost—what?!

As Kate brought his left hand to her lips to give it a kiss, Castle blinked twice in quick succession to refocus his vision. There she was down on the floor in front of him completely nude but for a scrap of fabric masquerading as a thong. _Jesus_.

Acting as though her lack of clothing was of no significance whatsoever, Kate returned Castle's left hand to his lap and reached hers out to his bowtie, which she began to loosen. This position afforded him the opportunity to graze his eyes over her bare collarbone, breasts, and flat stomach, but what struck him the most were her eyes and the way they crinkled as she concentrated on sliding the black tie properly out of his shirt collar.

In that moment, every negative feeling in his body evaporated and but one thought remained. "You're beautiful."

Locking eyes with him she smiled and then leaned in for a kiss, thought it was brief because she pulled back and exclaimed, "Oh, hold on." Rocking back on her heels she stood, tossed his tie onto her nightstand, and brought both hands to the chunky braded metal necklace she wore with her gown. "This'll get tangled in my hair if I don't take it off."

He watched as she walked casually over to the dresser across the room to return the necklace to its proper resting place. In that moment Castle was not struck by the attractiveness of her backside (thought it was very attractive in his opinion) or the level of her skin he was now exposed to, but instead by the casualness of her actions—the almost domesticity of them. She wasn't shy or prudish about her nudity or the fact that they were quite obviously about to have sex, she was merely going through her actions as though they'd been dating for months—years—because that's how comfortable they were with each other.

With the necklace back, Kate turned a quarter of the way towards him, stopped, and turned back to her dresser again commenting, "Might as well take these off too," while pulling the dangling earrings from her lobes. When she turned back around, Castle felt almost all the oxygen sucked from his lungs amazed by her, by them, by the prior eleven weeks that had gotten them there—to that place.

God, eleven weeks. How had his life changes so significantly in eleven weeks?

"What is it?" she asked softly, taking two steps towards the bed.

Castle stood and reached out his hand to snag her hip as the words formulated within his mind.

Three months earlier, before they'd met, he'd been miserable, bitter, and an absolute bastard. He'd been going through the motions of life not living it. He drank too much, found joy in nothing, and lived a purposely miserable existence. Then, she happened. That version of himself hadn't deserved someone as extraordinary as her, but she stumbled upon him anyway and flipped his world upside-down with almost effortless actions.

Castle wasn't sure what would have happened to him were it not for Kate Beckett, but he was certain he wouldn't be healthy or on the verge or reuniting his family. He certainly would not have had as much use of his hands as he did then. Thinking back on how terrible he'd been for so many months, he wasn't entirely sure he earned the moment they were about to embark on yet, but, god, did he ever feel lucky to be there.

"I...I think you might have saved my life."

Her face flushed, she blinked, and he could see tears collecting in the corners of her eyes. For a moment she didn't appear to be breathing, but then he heard her exhale long and slow. She lifted her right hand and held it against the edge of his jaw, painting her thumb across his bottom lip. Finally, in a voice just barely above a whisper she confessed, "I think you saved mine, too." Then, she used her hand to guide his mouth back to hers.

They crashed into each other and Castle stumbled backwards until his knees collided with the bed and he sat heavy on the bed. Kate climbed into his lap and worked the buttons on his shirt while they kissed and his hands roamed the expanse of her flesh exposed to him. He didn't even need to worry about struggling with the belt, button or zipper on his pants, because she undid those practically before he'd even realized.

When they rolled back onto the mattress together, Castle's hands skimmed down Kate's back where he squeezed her ass and then instinctively moved his hand to the waistband on her thong, but before he could peel the item from her body he stopped kissing her neck, pulled back and gazed down at her as a realization filtered through his mind.

"What is it?" she whispered, her finger skimming the base of his jaw. "Your hands? Do you need me to-"

"No, no." He assured her. Fortunately the one he intended to use was his right so it would have the dexterity needed to rid her of her panties, but that was not what his mind focused on. "I just…I haven't been with anyone since my accident." And given how on-edge his marriage with Gina had been, it may have even been several months before that.

Brushing the back of her fingers against the side of his jaw, she nodded. "I figured as much. It's been a while for me too, if that helps. I was...too busy systematically destroying my life."

Her words struck him as being wildly incorrect, so he shook his head and moved his hands from her body to where he could cradle her jaw. "Are you sure about that? I mean, you might have made mistakes but if you hadn't made them, we wouldn't be here right now, would we?"

He always had been and felt he always would be a believer that things happened for a reason. Yes, Kate had struggled over many things and he would never express joy over her being suspended from her job when she felt she was doing the right thing, but if she hadn't been, she wouldn't have been looking for a temporary job, she wouldn't have accepted the position with Black Pawn, and they wouldn't have met—at least, not then.

She nodded. "I guess not."

They lay in each other's arms for another moment while Castle studied her face and the uncertainty now clouding her eyes. It was his fault for bringing it up so he felt it to be his responsibility to bring her back the moment—their moment—and he could think of no other way than to say the words that had been swirling around his heart for weeks.

"Kate?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

He heard her breath catch in her chest and her eyes flared wide. She studied his gaze for almost thirty seconds, almost as though she was trying to give him a lie detector test, but he never faltered and so she finally whispered, "I love you, too."

Grin bursting across his face, he pulled her body into his, kissed her, and rolled them both over so they could once again become lost in each other.

* * *

 **A/N** : Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews. It means so much to me that you are all sad this fic will be ending, but the next chapter & epilogue will be the final updates by this story.

I let my Twitter followers vote on what's next, and they chose **Come Find Me** , a 10 chapter heavy M rated fic (seriously not kidding about the rating, which is sexually explicit M not violence M). It might...be a little too different for some people. I'm just putting that out there, but I'm really quite proud of it so I hope you all enjoy it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The following morning, Kate Beckett found herself slowly emerging from sleep. She sighed, snuggled her head against her pillow, and shuffled her legs beneath the sheets. Only then did she recall that she was naked and her eyes popped open. She gazed down at the floor, saw Castle's black socks sitting in a pile a few feet away and turned her head down towards the mattress to stifle a happy giggle.

Oh yeah— _that_ happened.

Kate supposed that deep down she had a suspicion all along that she would end up in bed with her writer companion. Perhaps not before the actual date began—the status of their future relationship had been far too in question at that time—but after he picked her up and continued to compliment her she suspected. She had not been certain, though, until they entered her apartment and she saw the way he gazed at her.

At one point during their walk around the city Kate had the familiar internal conversation with herself—the one she usually did on dates with new men; the "How am I comfortable ending the night with this man?" conversation. Would they hug? Would they kiss? Would there be more than kissing? Though it was technically only their first date, Kate decided she would have no trouble with any of those three scenarios—as long as her date was comfortable. After all, it was he who had suffered the recent trauma and she was comfortable letting him set the pace, but of course not at all disappointed at how _amazing_ their evening had ended.

With just one night together Kate knew with one hundred percent certainty that the connection she had felt with Castle for many weeks was not only very real, but even stronger than she anticipated. They just…fit. He made her feel comfortable; he brought her joy. She felt like she'd known him for years, not less than three months, which gave her the feeling that she was embarking on a relationship unlike any she'd ever had before.

Lying there with her face still buried into her pillow, Kate could not help but think with some amusement that perhaps her father had been right all along. Perhaps the timing of losing her job and stumbling upon the Black Pawn gig had been fate. Perhaps it had been meant to be.

As a skeptical child, Kate had never truly believed in the concept of fate, or that things in the universe were destined to happen. Then, her mother had been murdered and she refused to accept that event was part of a predetermined set of actions, because why would life be so cruel to her? Now, at twenty-six, thinking back on the path her life had taken, she began to open her mind to the concept. For weeks she'd felt in her gut that perhaps she had been meant to take the job with Castle, but because she believed she'd nudged him on the path to recovery with his hands, but now it seemed like even more could be at stake.

After dozing for a few more minutes, Kate sucked in a deep breath, arched her back in a stretch and rolled over only to find the other side of the bed disappointingly empty. Sitting up slowly, she said, "Castle?" in a low voice, not sure where he was. His socks were still on the floor and, now that she looked more closely, so were his pants, but she felt she'd been awake long enough for him to return if he'd simply made a trip to the bathroom.

Confused, Kate swung her legs over the edge of the bed, plucked her gray terrycloth robe from its spot hanging from the bedpost, and pulled it on as she stumbled her way into the living room, her body still acclimating to being awake and not curled beneath the sheets. She'd taken barely two steps out of her bedroom when she saw him in her kitchen standing by the stove with his tongue trapped between his teeth.

For a moment, Kate was frozen. Her heart fluttered at the sight of famous author Richard Castle standing in her kitchen wearing nothing but his white undershirt and navy blue boxer shorts.

 _Wow_.

Shaking the amazement from her brain, Kate tied the belt of her robe tightly around her waist and asked the most obvious question she could think of. "What are you doing? It's…," she paused to squint her eyes at the nearest clock, "barely seven a.m."

He smiled a dopey rather love-drunk smile at her that made the hairs on the back of her arm tingle. "I wanted to surprise you with breakfast."

"Breakfast?" He merely hummed in return so Kate approached the kitchen curiously. She mentally reviewed the contents of her refrigerator and realized it was quite bare so unless he'd discovered a new recipe that could be made with baking soda and expired milk she was at a total loss.

When she realized he was using the griddle she hadn't used in years to make fluffy delicious circles her jaw dropped. "How are you making pancakes? Where did you….?"

"I had the ingredients delivered," he explained as though it were entirely obvious.

She blinked at him. "Before seven a.m.?"

He grinned before scooping up the cake currently on the griddle and flipping it over. "This is the city that never sleeps, Kate. Except you; you looked exceptionally lovely when I woke up this morning. I almost hated to get out of bed."

Her shock dissipated into a playful smile as she took in his grin and floppy bed-mussed hair. Stepping up beside him, she rubbed her hand over his shoulder and husked, "Should have stayed."

"Well maybe we can go back there after we eat."

She hummed happily in response, kissed him, and then walked over to the freshly made pot of coffee to pour herself a cup.

"Hey so, um…this is a thing now, right? Us?"

Mug in hand, she turned around and gazed with slight amusement at the concern on his face. What? Like she was going to kick him to the curb after just one night? Not a chance. Not before their love making and _certainly_ not after. "You mean are we a couple? Um, yeah—that's what I was thinking anyway. Is that what you want?"

Castle rested the spatula at the edge of the griddle and turned to face her. "What I want? Of course! You're extraordinary!"

"I don't know about that."

He stepped forward and slid his arm around her waist. "You are. I absolutely want us to be a couple, but …I might need a little time with Alexis moving back in and all; we need to find our routine again."

She shook off his concerns. "Of course, Rick; I understand that." She hardly expected them to be glued to the hip twenty-four hours a day. Alexis was returning to his apartment that week and she would be starting as a detective once again, needing to prove herself worthy all over again. If anything, she would probably be the one requesting extra time to herself to pick up extra shifts and dedicate herself even more to her cases. They would find a balance, though; she was sure of it.

The writer smiled and gave her two quick kisses before humming out, "Mm you're wonderful—now take a seat."

"I cannot believe you did all this," she commented as she walked to her kitchen table, at first thinking merely of his thoughtfulness for getting up before her, ordering ingredients, and making them in her unfamiliar space. Then, when she turned her head to see him carrying a plate of pancakes with one hand and a bottle of syrup with the other, the accidental double meaning of her statement hit her. Castle, the man who had largely depended on the personal care assistant for almost everything over the prior year, had made them breakfast all by himself. Yes, in the past few weeks Juanita had only worked in the mornings, shopping and preparing food, and Castle had become progressively more independent but, still, it was impressive.

"Thought we worked up an appetite," he said, putting the plate down in front of her.

"No," she said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "You did all this. With no help."

He gave a slight nod. "It wasn't easy. I almost quit trying to open that package of pancake mix but…yeah I did. But I couldn't have if it wasn't for you."

Kate felt her cheeks flush and she tried to deflect the attention away from herself. Picking up her fork she said, "I deserve only the smallest fraction of credit."

"That is completely untrue." Castle sat down across from her and then called her attention away from breakfast with, "Hey—I'm really glad you took that job with Black Pawn."

Kate reached across the table and grasped his fingers with hers. "Me too."

* * *

Lying in bed, Castle could not help but think his situation to be idyllic that Saturday afternoon as he drifted in and out of consciousness with a beautiful woman curled up at his side. After filling themselves with pancakes which he found to be even more delicious since they were the first food he was able to cook himself in a year, Castle suggested they return to bed and Kate happily agreed. They made love a second time and took a brief nap only to wake up and begin round three, but that time they were interrupted by Kate's phone ringing. Seeing the precinct's number on the caller ID she answered and discovered that, due to being severely short staffed, Kate's captain was commuting the last week of her suspension and asked that she report back Monday morning. Kate agreed only to apologize after hanging up, for it meant she would miss her last official week as his writing assistant.

Considering their recent change in romantic status, Castle could not say he was entirely upset about the prospect. Yes, he would miss spending eight hours or more with her every day, but considering she would be paid for that time and they were sleeping together, the waters were muddied enough that the change was probably for the best. He was by that point entirely capable of typing with his right hand and capable enough with his left to bring Storm's tale to a close.

Their mood slightly dampened by the disruption, Kate merely curled up with her head on Castle's chest and they'd been laying that way and dozing for the better part of an hour—not that Castle minded. He would certainly never turn down an opportunity to cuddle, but just as Kate's mind was now preoccupied with restarting her job, his was with thoughts of Derrick Storm, his future as a writer, and his budding relationship with the woman beside him.

After being intimate with her, Castle was even more convinced of his love for her—if that was even possible. On some level it still seemed strange to him—that he could fall so deeply for someone so quickly. He had always been a man to wear his heart on his sleeve, but he could not recall a time when he'd fallen this quickly for someone—not that it made his feelings any less valid. He loved Kate and was certain they had an extraordinary future together.

When he thought about all the things she'd done for him over their time together, he was continually amazed. She had helped him, encouraged him—even inspired him. She was strong and independent yet kind and compassionate. Though he had never seen her at work, he was certain she would not only be a brilliant investigator and an extraordinary ally to the victim's families. Laying there, listing in his mind all the ways he was amazed by her, Castle could not help but feel a surge of inspiration in his chest. Yes, having Kate Beckett as his girlfriend was extraordinary, but was it enough? The way his feelings for her had consumed his soul so quickly made him feel as though there should be more—much more.

As he continued to mull over these thoughts, the woman beside him hummed and tightened her grip around his waist. "Mmm you're thinking too loudly, Castle."

He was startled at first by her words then grunted out a response. "Not possible."

"Hmm yes. I can feel how tense you are. Stop thinking so hard."

He let out a breathy chuckle and gave her shoulders a little squeeze. "Sorry; can't help it. Lot on my mind."

She lifted her head and gazed up at him with her honey-brown eyes. "Wanna talk about it?"

"I…I want to write about it. I want to write about you." The words left his mouth almost without any thought and they surprised him, but the more he thought about it they made perfect sense. Without her encouragement he would not have been able to finish Storm's latest tale. Without her frustration and subsequent support, he would not have returned to the therapy that helped him regain use of his hands. He'd heard her story, seen how she struggled with heartbreak and tragedy and come out the other side an amazing person, yet he knew there was more about her he didn't know. He craved those tales as well, but also felt inspired to write some of his own.

Pushing herself up so that her torso now hovered above his chest she asked with a wrinkled brow, "What?"

Castle reached out and brushed his thumb against the front of her chin. "You…you're extraordinary. You're amazing. You're miraculous. And I just got a perfect idea for a brand new character. She'd be just like you….only hotter." He could see it in his mind's eye as the character slowly moved into focus: short cropped auburn hair, razor sharp cheek bones, luxurious pink lips and always the highest stiletto heels any woman could conceivably walk in.

"Castle."

He grinned at the way her cheeks flushed and lifted his head enough to kiss her jaw. "Kidding. She couldn't be hotter than you or she'd burst into flames!"

"You're insane." She rolled her eyes and shook her head as she moved to sit up. He mirrored her action, balling the sheets up in his lap as they sat side-by-side.

"I'm serious. Maybe the reason I struggled so much with this book before you arrived was because I need a change from Derrick storm. Maybe I need a new character to inspire me. A new muse."

"Muse?"

"Mmmhmm." He hummed and leaned in for a kiss, but she leaned back, wrinkling her nose.

"Castle…no. please don't call me your muse."

"But you are."

"Castle."

"Fine…" He sighed with a bit more drama than necessary. "You can just be 'girlfriend' if you prefer…and assuming you're still interested?"

"Think I'm stuck with you now."

Castle immediately felt as though his heart had been pierced by a blade. From her flippant tone and the way she gazed away from him when she spoke he could not interpret whether or not she was joking, or truly felt as though she could not walk away from him for some reason he did not understand. Seeing as he was a man who was divorced twice, he did not want anyone to be with him because they felt obligated or because it was simply a better choice than being a part. If he'd learned one thing in his thirty-six years it was that you couldn't force happiness and he didn't want to be the person standing in the way of Kate's.

"You're not. You never have to-"

"Oh Castle!" Kate turned to him with a joyful smile and dusted her hand across his chest. "I'm sorry I was just teasing you."

He pressed his lips tightly together. "Are you sure?"

"Rick, yes; of course."

If her soft tone and gentle hand on his shoulder were not enough to convince him, the fact that she used his first name for the very first time when speaking to him certainly was enough to catch his attention. Clearly, this was a serious moment for her.

Sitting on her hip, she skimmed her hand down his arm until she could grip his hand and pull it into her lap. "I meant want I said last night—I love you. I never expected for this partnership to turn into something like this, but I'm grateful for it. I guess I didn't realize what a lonely life I had until we became closer. It was self-imposed, of course. I never wanted to hurt again after my mother died but then I met you and you're worth changing for—though I might be kind of bad at it at first." She finished with a light laugh.

Castle gripped her hand with his and gave it a solid squeeze. "Doubtful, but we'll get through it – like we got though everything else the past few months."

"Yeah."

Grinning, he tugged on her hand to pull her forward and into a hug. He placed a few kisses onto her bare shoulder and held her a little bit tighter. Castle had complete faith in their ability to transition between partners and lovers successfully. Maybe Kate was nervous about having some early relationship bumps in the road, but he wasn't. Hell, after everything he'd been through in the prior year, he imagined he would struggle a little as well, but they would make it through to the other side and be stronger because of it.

Pulling back from their hug, he gave her a quick kiss and then lay back against the mattress, encouraging her to follow with the beckoning of his hand. She did so and once her head was on his chest they lay quietly for several moments as Castle reflected on just how lucky he was that she found out about Black Pawn's job offer and inquired about the position. Thinking on it further, he was even more grateful that his terrible attitude in the beginning of their partnership did not drive her away, which was particularly astounding since at the time he'd aspired to do exactly that.

"Kate?"

"Hmm."

"Thank you for not losing faith in me even though I gave you many chances to do so."

She lived her head, smiled at him and said, "Always."

* * *

 **A/N** : as always, thank you so much for reading

Epilogue will be up on Tuesday

 **Come Find Me** will begin on Saturday

I will also have a 3 shot mini fic & another oneshot & i'll be participating in November's pornado on Tumblr for those who don't find Come Find Me to be their cup of tea.

:)


	13. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

As he ascended the stairs in his loft apartment, Richard Castle could feel the exhaustion coursing through ever cell in his body, making it feel as though each shoe sole was made of several pounds of cement. His back was sore from the pathetic excuse for a cot he'd spent the prior night on and his neck ached for the same reason. As he ascended to the top step, the small bundle in his arms felt like twenty-five pounds instead of seven pounds, three ounces, but yet despite all of this he could hardly remember a time in his life when he was happier.

Gazing down at his son, Castle was amazed for perhaps the millionth time in the prior thirty-six hours. He was here; really here! The prior nine months had been filled with an almost painful level of anticipation made even more excruciating by Kate's insistence that they not find out their child's gender. As such his room was painted a soft lemon yellow and decorated with a zoo-animal theme, which Kate made certain to be equally appropriate for a boy or a girl. At that point, Castle honestly would not have even cared if it was hot pink; he was just thrilled their son was there and healthy. That and the health of his wife was all that mattered to him.

"Okay, buddy, are you ready?" Castle spoke softly to the little boy who yawned and fluttered his eyelids over his big dark eyes. He'd fallen asleep in the car on the way home from the hospital, but the bump of the elevator car had stirred him awake. He didn't scream, though; merely grumbled a little bit and looked around. Kate said he looked just like his father when he was awoken abruptly from a nap; Castle could not argue with this point one bit.

Holding the baby in a more upright position, Castle entered the nursery and began his tour. "There's your dresser and your changing table and the chair where Mommy and Daddy will rock you to sleep. And—oh!—a few stuffed animals. Your sister gave you that one in the middle—the elephant. Do you remember her from yesterday?"

Castle's eldest could barely contain herself when she arrived to greet the baby a few hours after his birth. She was, of course, thrilled that she correctly guessed she would have a baby brother, but horrified that she would have to spend two additional nights with her grandmother. Despite her protests, Castle did not budge her opinion. She had just barely started high school two weeks prior and he didn't want her missing sleep when, inevitably, the little boy woke up multiple times during the night. He figured they'd take two days to themselves then it would be the weekend and Alexis would come home and hopefully they'd be reasonably settled by Sunday on the eve of Evan's one week milestone. Hopefully.

"And here's your crib where you'll fall to sleep every night—or so we hope." Castle chuckled and rubbed his hand over the boy's belly. Thanks to his wife setting him on the right path, Castle had almost completely recovered from his car accident the year before they met. Yes, some days he had shoulder discomfort (particularly, he begrudgingly admitted, when it was raining outside), and his left pinky never regained enough functionality to type on a keyboard without difficulty, but the fact that most days went by without him even thinking about his accident was a testament to just how far he'd come.

"What are you doing?"

Castle turned to see his wife hovering in the doorway and practically felt his breath evaporate from their chest. He loved her dearly, and had since the onset of their relationship nearly four years earlier, but he had never loved her more than the moment she brought their son into the world. She was extraordinary in every way—including now as a mother.

Smiling at her tired-yet-glowing expression, he walked towards her and explained, "I'm showing Evan his room."

"He's two days old."

"Well that explains why he's not taking notes."

She grazed her teeth over her bottom lip and shook her head at him. "You're crazy."

"Crazy happy…crazy in love…right?"

She stepped forward, stood on her toes, and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Then, she scooped the baby out of his arms and brought him close to her chest. "Yes, but you're also just plain old crazy."

Castle hovered close by as Kate walked over to the changing table, placed Evan down on the pad, and then began sorting through the diapers and wipes they'd already laid out presumably checking to make sure everything was in order. Since the boy began to fuss, Castle reached out and grazed his hand soothingly against Evan's mostly-bald head. "He's so perfect, Kate; you did such an amazing job."

Kate hummed as she went through the motions of undoing Evan's onesie and changing his diaper, something she was quickly becoming a professional at. "You were right…all that stuff you said about instant love. It's incredible."

"It never changes either…not with the second, third, fourth…"

Kate spun around, her jaw gaping. "FOURTH!? How many kids are you planning on having Castle?"

Feeling his face flush at her dangerous expression, he quickly said, "Ah…as many as you'd like, my incredible, beautiful wife."

She let out a tired laugh. "Nice save."

"Thought so."

Kate finished putting Evan's onesie back on and then left the room to wash her hands while Castle scooped up his son once more. He was in the middle of counting all of Evan's fingers for the ninth time when Kate returned to the room and said, "Um, so, can I ask a dumb parenting question?"

He smiled at her. "Always."

"This may just be my exhaustion talking but—he's changed, he's not crying and hungry, but he's also not sleeping so…what do we do?"

Castle could not help but chuckle at how befuddled she sounded. "Well, that's why I was giving him the tour. Or we can sit down and talk to him until he's tired or hungry or needs changed again."

Kate bobbed her head. "Right. Sorry."

"Never apologize, Kate; that's what partners are for, right?"

She leaned into him, tucking her head against his shoulder and stroked her index finger down the bottom of the baby's foot. "Yeah; partners."

* * *

 **A/N:** again, thank you so much for reading. I'm so glad everyone enjoyed this fic

Come Find Me will be up on Saturday!


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